


We Deserve to Rest Forever

by henkitry



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Assault, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Choking, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye Trauma, Guns, Incest, Kidnapping, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Sadism, Stalking, Torture, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-03-02 18:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 85,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18816673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henkitry/pseuds/henkitry
Summary: Kokichi can feel the eyes on him wherever he goes, unmoving, unblinking. He's convinced that his mind is playing tricks on him until he receives confirmation of his fears in the worst way possible.non-killing game AU, high school setting. pre-game personalities (in a really weird convoluted way?) chapters with graphic depictions of tags will have a warning at the beginning.additional tags to be added as chapters are written; please take caution when reading and check the tags regularly.





	1. I

Kokichi Ouma could feel the eyes on his back.

 

The feeling clawed at him, slow and painful, talons sinking deep into his muscles. His shoulders were tense, the uptick in heartbeat sounding in his ears. He willed himself to ignore it and - he couldn't. Of course he couldn't. He was never able to calm down once the panic attack started, creeping up his neck. He shifted his eyes back and forth, side to side. Left right, left right, like clockwork. It was an act of futility, because he never saw anything unusual.

So why? His eyelids fluttered nervously.

Why did he feel such intense dread?

The day itself hadn't been anything out of the ordinary. In fact, he didn't feel like he had been present for most of it, and he wouldn't be too surprised if the other students told him that they hadn't seen him in class. That's just the type of person he was: a snapshot, a whisper behind boisterous voices. He was a dark, shadowy corner in a large expanse of a room filled with light. He never raised his voice, never excelled yet never spectacularly failed at anything. Neither popular or disliked, because for that to happen, people had to notice you first.

Kokichi took in deep breaths, fingers clutching at the seams of his pants. He watched the swarm of students flow around him through his periphery. He gathered enough nerve to look behind him, scanning the school gates he had passed through minutes ago. There was a small line of students trickling out from the crowded area, heads geared towards the floor. Others passively loitered, chattering promises to meet each other over the weekend, and did you hear about this and that and these? It was an obscenely normal sight for a Friday afternoon.

The feeling was rising now, nausea rolling through him in waves.

He shut his eyes, exhaling hard, desperately trying to get the feeling _out._  

A faint memory. The first time it happened, the attack took a much vaguer form. He had been out grocery shopping, a willing errand boy, poring over different sales. While he considered which brand of sugar he should buy, it started: a faint burning sensation on his skin, like someone dragging their nails into the hollows of his shoulder blades. A violent shiver coursed through his body, once, and he whipped his head around - but there had been nothing. The feeling eventually faded away when he returned his attention back to his shopping list.

It was pointless, but Kokichi wished he could go back in time. That time had been pleasant compared to what he had been feeling recently. Now it happened multiple times a day, every time stronger and more piercing than the last. He drowned in that unrelenting paranoia constantly. Someone was watching him, boring their eyes into his frail body, with that great, oppressive intensity.

A full 360 degree turn confirmed no one was looking at him. It was a silly idea to think anyone would have noticed him to begin with.

He flexed his legs, knees sore from standing so still. He wasn't sure how long the episode lasted, but he supposed it hadn't been too bad. There were still some stragglers he could see here and there.

Maybe, he reasoned, once he got home, he would feel better. The comforting, familiar atmosphere of his living room would be a nice counterpart to his negative feelings. He walked towards his house, the muted thud of shoes on cement sounding under him.

Absent-mindedly, he wondered if he should see a doctor.

 

 

When he finally got home, the house was quiet. The door squealed when he entered, a soft whine followed by a heavy click, shutting behind him. He peeled off his shoes, toes pushing against his heels. The silence wasn't a surprise. His parents weren't home; they had gone on vacation earlier that morning, and they wouldn't be back for a week, maybe longer. His parents enunciated the last statement with a cheeky smile, the excitement apparent on their faces. It wasn't too often they took trips that weren't strictly for business.

"Going to Hawaii by themselves!" Kokichi grumbled, if not just to fill the house with some kind of sound. "They could've taken me. No school would've been nice."

It was difficult not to notice how silent it was. This wasn't the first time he had come back to an empty house, but something about everything felt off today. The typical bustling noises of his mother preparing dinner (way too early) and his father rustling a newspaper (with the TV still on) had helped to comfort him, but with them gone, the place felt too big. It was almost ominous for a place he spent nearly every day for the past few years.

Kokichi felt a lump forming in his chest, cementing deep in his ribs. Again? He hastily twisted the lock shut and stepped out into the living room, letting his eyes drift over every inch he could see.

Nothing.

He huffed, pulling on a long strand of hair near his cheek. The anxiety began pulsing, alive and sinister against his brain. What was it? What was wrong? Annoyed, he made his way to the kitchen, taking a juice box from the fridge, deep in thought.

'You're being silly.' He reprimanded himself, although it barely helped. 'Just go to your room. It'll pass.'

He fumbled with the cover around the straw, ripping it open. He poked the straw through the foil opening, watching as the orange juice bubbled up through the thin plastic. It's okay, everything is normal. He took a sip as he started to make his way up the stairs.

But his feet stopped midway. Something was on his door.

The feeling screeched inside of him now, a rush of blood setting fire to his ears. His lips parted, a shallow breath leaving his lungs. He reached out a shaking hand, unstuck the paper taped to his door, read it silently.

 

_I know who you are._

 

What ... was this?

Kokichi stood frozen, his eyes running over the note, again and again.

I know who you are.

I know who ...?

I know ...

 

In an instant, a wave of realization crashed into him. He let out an involuntary gasp, dropping his juice onto the linoleum with a thud.

His parents had left early, before he had woken up to go to school. He was sure there hadn't been a note like this when he left, and no one should have been in this house while he was at school.

A voice inside his head screeched. Someone was here! Someone broke in! It was entirely possible that the person could still be here.

Run, run, run. You have to get out.

For a moment, his feet stayed rooted to the ground, knees locked, mouth ajar. The paper between his fingers trembled.

 

On the other side of the bedroom door, the knob started twisting.

Kokichi sprinted down the stairs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My very first work on AO3! What a great time to write something terrible and self-indulgent. This is actually the lengthiest piece I've written in a long time, so forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty. I love stalker/kidnapping dynamics, which served as my main inspiration for this story.
> 
> Please let me know if I've missed any relevant tags, and as always, comments and criticisms are appreciated. I hope you enjoy this work.


	2. Know

Kaede paced across her doorstep as she talked to the police. Her legs were fueled by a quiet adrenaline. It was difficult, since she didn't know how much she needed to tell them or how much she accurately understood herself. Her friend was sat in the living room, wrapped in a blanket on her couch, staring down at the floor. He'd been there for at least twenty minutes already.

She noticed that she was chewing on her lower lip, the skin stinging between her teeth. She didn't know what to make of the situation. Kokichi appeared out of nowhere, pale face slick with perspiration, crying about something, someone in his house, how he wasn't safe, he knew, he knew it -- she couldn't make out most of his words at first, but it would take true obliviousness to not see his distress. It was a stark contrast to the Kokichi she saw earlier that day at school. All she could do was sit him down, rubbing his arm and cooing gentle reassurances until he got back his breath. And now she was talking with the police, herself shaken by his random appearance.

The police were on their way, the person on the phone assured her. Their voice sounded too chirpy for what was going on, but Kaede thought that's what they were trained to do to stave off panic. She relayed the message to the boy on her couch, gently dabbing at his face with a tissue. Kokichi's eyes fixated on hers, and she found her own hands started trembling.

She gulped, keeping her emotions down, and gave him a small smile.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked, crumpling the tissue and tossing it aside. She could pick up the trash later. Kokichi inhaled slowly, his breath knotted with wet hiccups.

"A... little."

"Do you feel them here? The, the eyes you were talking about?"

"No." He was sure of this; his heart was still pulsing rapidly behind his sternum, but the eyes were gone. Whoever had been watching him, he had left behind at his house. He attempted to smile back at her, but he was sure the result looked pathetic. Each thump of his blood circulating through his body sent waves of pain to his head. His knuckles were white, gripping around his legs that were pulled up to his chest. Kaede could tell at once he was lying about feeling better, yet she willingly dropped the subject. She supposed she wouldn't be okay either.

The police arrived at her place an hour after she placed the call. They pored over every possible hiding spot of the house, but they couldn't find anything other than Kokichi's discarded juice box drooling on the tile. The note he had found, the one he dropped in shock after he heard the jangle of the doorknob turning, was gone. There hadn't been any sign of break in, either - if there had been an intruder, they were long gone by the time the police drove up.

The police promised to patrol the area for that night, but they both knew it was unlikely his watcher would come back with an obvious police presence.

'There's really nothing they can do to protect him in the long run?' the blonde thought helplessly, brow furrowing. 'Not unless they catch whoever it was, before they can hurt him.' Goosebumps traveled along her skin. The thought of having no privacy of your own, being followed wherever you went... he really dealt with this on his own for months? Nobody had noticed him acting any differently, but Kokichi wasn't a person who talked often; he blended in with the background noise. Kaede hardly noticed him most of the time, whether they were hanging out at school or at her own place, since they were always together in a group.

She relaxed her jaw, tense with worry, feeling a weak grip on her shirt sleeve. Turning around, she saw the boy beside her, the blanket trailing behind his feet.

"Can you stay over? Just for tonight?" He croaked, his gaze cast downward. She didn't hesitate.

"Yeah. I won't leave you behind."

 

The police being around did little to calm him down. Kokichi bitterly thought that they didn't believe his claim, but he knew what he saw. He knew what he felt. But even if the police were to patrol around his house for as long as they could, they couldn't do it forever - at some point, they would have to leave after no activity. The intruder would just have to wait it out. More than anything else, he was sure that the person would come back.

People like that were incapable of thinking rationally.

Kaede came back to him with his house, her hand firmly grasped around his, a source of comfort in the widely open space. Once inside, she wrapped an arm around him. She held him like he was going to fall apart.

"Kokichi," she whispered his name so quietly, he barely heard it. His eyes still fixated on the floor, counting every puffed strand of beige carpeting. She continued speaking, "Want me to invite some friends over? Maybe more people will make you feel better."

He nodded silently, the tendrils of his dark hair bobbing in time. Kaede was so sincere - a major contributor to how popular she was, an outgoing and talkative girl anyone could approach. Even if they weren't close, she was still a friend. It was lucky his brain went to her house purely on instinct.

 

The boy swiped a rag over the floor, scrubbing the juice he dropped earlier that day. He agreed to have people over, but the house wasn't very tidy. He usually didn't have anyone coming to his house for him, and the place was still in a frenzy from his parents leaving this morning. But he couldn't deny that he was starting to feel more relaxed. Keeping busy and having others in the house kept him from overthinking.

He could hear Kaede ordering pizza in the kitchen, high voice muffled by thin white walls. All of a sudden, he wondered: was he overreacting? It was difficult not to think about what happened earlier, but it felt like a dream, something he couldn't process properly in the moment. He was starting to doubt whether or not he actually saw the doorknob move, if he read the note properly, or if the note had even existed for begin with. The event was a blurry, sour footnote to his otherwise average day.

He heard knocking downstairs, listened to it creak open. Kokichi skittered, trying to greet his guests. Another friend from school, much taller than him, crowded the doorway. His hair was ridiculously styled, spiked upwards like porcupine quills from a combination of gels and an intricate blowdry technique. Only this person could make something so stupid look fitting.

"Yo!" The friend at the door waved his hand, a wide grin on his face. "Kokichi! This is my first time seeing you outside of school."  
The smaller boy smiled shyly, gesturing back to him. "Hi, Kaito."  
He noticed a girl hidden behind him, her vibrant eyes darting around, long hair bunched into two low pigtails. He had never seen her before.

His gaze was caught quickly by the other, his confusion clear on his face.

"This is Maki!" Kaito explained, his happy expression never faltering, "My girlfriend from the other high school. I told you about her, right?" He gave her shoulder a small squeeze, the girl twisting her lips into a cute pout as he showed her off. Kokichi only nodded - of course he remembered. With how much Kaito bragged and boasted about his new girl the week following their get together, Kokichi would have to be deaf to not know.

"Don't be so upfront about it," the girl muttered under her breath, hand running through her dark locks, a soft blush dusting her face. "You're so embarrassing."

"Whaaat? You're cute! The cutest girl I've ever seen!" He swept her off her feet with his arms in one fluid motion, Maki giving a startled yelp in protest as he held her in a bridal carry. Before she had a chance to protest, Kaito had kicked off his shoes - "Coming through!" - and whisked her into the living room. Kokichi resisted the urge to roll his eyes; Kaito was too enthusiastic and one of the cheesiest people he knew. It was only a matter of time before that got him in trouble with his new girlfriend. He thought he could already hear them squabbling, a symphony of two voices, perfectly complimentary. 

It must be nice, he thought, to have someone always there for you.

 

"Hello?"  
A more quiet, melodious voice broke into his musing, his ears registering the hollow rapping noise of knuckles on wood. Kokichi turned his attention back to the door, still left open after Kaito boisterously entered.  
The speaker stood, his shoulders perfectly square, eyes blinking expectantly. Kokichi was taken off guard - he had never seen this person either. He was much leaner than Kaito, blue-black hair framing his face, eyes shadowed by his hat against the orange of the sunset. He clutched the strap of a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. 

Kokichi could only stare for a moment, not knowing what to say.  
The person cleared their throat. "Uh, is Kaede-"

"Shuichi!"  
Kokichi jumped at the sound of Kaede's voice. Seeing him flinch, she immediately launched into a frenzy of apologies.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you," she sheepishly glanced at him before returning her attention to the door, her expression quickly jumping from shame to warmth. "Shuichi, I'm so glad you could make it. I know you're super busy with your internship and everything-"

Shuichi held up a hand, prompting her to stop. "It's okay, I was free today anyway. Show me inside?"

"Sure, come in." It disturbed Kokichi that the blonde invited this person in without any afterthought to him, the girl now shuffling into the room where Kaito and Maki were staying. It was intimidating, a new presence in his house. Maki coming over was one thing, since she came as a direct extension of Kaito, someone he was familiar with and who had talked about this girl nonstop for the past week. This new boy was a vaguer presence, a silent pillar, only associated through Kaede who had many, many friends she mentioned in passing. 

Shuichi stepped into the entrance hall, stripping off his loafers and gingerly placing them to the side, a stark contrast to how Kaito threw his off with a swing of his feet. His gaze shifted to Kokichi, still standing nearby, unsure of how to proceed. He hadn't said a word to this person yet.

"Nice to meet you," Shuichi said, a greeting spoken under his breath. He pushed the door shut behind him and walked past without waiting for a response. By the time Kokichi made his way back to the group, everyone had gotten themselves situated on and around the couch. Kaito was talking about something Kokichi didn't hear from his distance, the group rippling with laughter.

Kaede smiled up at the boy from her seat on the floor. "Pizza's on the way. You wanna turn on a movie or something?"

Kokichi took his own seat on the couch, graciously left untouched for him by his guests, nodded, and clicked on the TV.


	3. Who

Night came quickly with his friends around. It was past midnight before they bothered to start checking the time, prompted by a chain of yawns coursing through the group. Maki left at that point, unwilling to stay over when she had prep school early in the morning.

Kokichi fretted over sleeping in his room alone after a stranger had been in it, so Kaito offered his presence, slinking upstairs with him. He slept on a thin bedsheet spread over the carpet. Kokichi would've felt bad if he didn't know Kaito would sleep like a rock anyway. He rarely paid any attention to discomfort when he was tired enough. When Kokichi crawled into bed, his friend had already passed out. The rhythmic snoring helped lull him to sleep as well, finally able to relax, his aching bones sinking into the mattress.

Kaito was blearily rubbing his eyes when Kokichi awoke the next morning.  
"Buddy. Nothing happened, right?" He stretched, his arms extending over his head. After a quick survey of his room, Kokichi shook his head, confirming that there was nothing different. It came as both a relief and a concern. He didn't have to see his stalker, and yet, he knew they were still out there, roaming around. He peeked through his curtains, eyes scanning the street outside his house.

"Looks like the police already left," Kokichi said, voice twinged with disappointment. Kaito yawned, still splayed out on the floor. "Guess no one suspicious came by."

 

When Kokichi made his way downstairs, Kaede and Shuichi were sitting at the dining table. They were still dressed in the sleep clothes they wore to bed. 

"Morning!" Kaede piped up as she saw him. Kokichi nodded his head in acknowledgement, shuffling into the open kitchen. He popped two pieces of bread into the toaster.

"Did something good happen, Kaede?" he murmured, referencing her cheery attitude. It wasn't too early, but the rest of the house was still groggy after having slept late. Kaede's grin turned flustered.

"Ah, I don't know, I just," she paused, her gaze shifting to the upper corner of the room in thought, "I feel energized today. I slept well."

Kokichi felt the edges of his mouth twitching in amusement. He was sure she had a good time last night with Shuichi nearby. They had both slept in the living room, Shuichi on the floor and Kaede on the couch after a few minutes of the boy insisting. Kokichi had been upset that Kaede brought a stranger to his house when he needed support, but as the night progressed, it was glaringly obvious why she had done it. He worked part time at a detective agency, serving under one of their top investigators as an apprentice, or so she explained. She said she called him to see if the police had missed anything (they don't do as detailed work as detectives do, that's all, she maintained when questioned), but her ulterior motive was clear as day: she just liked him. It was hard to see him without an excuse, since he was too absorbed in his work, so what better excuse than handing him a mystery?

Kokichi felt a little used, but he didn't blame her for it. Shuichi hadn't found anything new, so at least she had fun. She reminded him of Kaito in that way, the same obliviousness to how visual their emotions were. It was funny.

The detective himself stayed quiet, elbows leaning on dark wood, hovering over his black coffee. He held a serious expression on his face, hair still mussed from tossing around on the floor. Kaede lightly brushed her fingers on his shoulder.

"Did you not sleep well?" she asked with a frown, a reaction to his harsh look. He sighed, bringing the mug up to his lips. The steam shrouded his face.  
"The floor isn't as nice as the couch," he joked, but he sounded deathly tired.  
"I told you I could've slept on the floor!"  
"No, it's okay, I usually don't sleep that much anyway..."

The conversation proceeded without him. Kokichi let himself zone out until his toaster beeped, spitting out his breakfast.

 

The male guests dispersed soon after breakfast, getting rides back to their respective homes. It was only Kaede and Kokichi in the house now, loitering around in the foyer. Kaede slung her overnight bag over her shoulder, tapping the toes of her shoes on the tile.

"Hey... thanks." Kokichi kept his voice low, apologetic yet grateful for her help.  
"You don't have to thank me," she responded, "It's what friends do. But I wish the police would've stayed longer."  
"Me too."

A silence fell over them. Kokichi looked at his feet, too awkward to make eye contact. He heard Kaede take a breath, her lips parting, closing, parting again.

"I know we're not super close, but I'm here for you. Be safe."

The heartfelt comment struck something deep in the core of his being, his throat swelling with emotion. Being cared for outside of family wasn't a courtesy he was used to. He reveled in the safety of her words, safety he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"I'll try my best."  
"Message me if anything happens."  
"Yeah."  
"Seriously, I'll come running." She held a hard edge to her words.  
"I know."  
"... Okay."

She waved goodbye.

The rest of the weekend went by uneventfully, curtains closed, lights always on. To Kokichi's surprise, the eyes didn't show up again, even after everyone had left.

 

Oh, but it couldn't be that easy.  
On Monday, Kokichi felt his heart drop when he opened his locker. A square of thick paper cut from stationary sat on his books.  
The two days he had without any disturbances almost soothed him into forgetting about the entire ordeal. The freedom felt great, and he was happy just to exist without needles pricking at his neck constantly. The new note caused the feverish anxiety to return, jamming itself into his spine. His fingers felt numb.

_My heart is aching for you.  
Can you feel it as well?_

The delicate, curlicue writing was the same as the last note, if he remembered correctly. It was embellished enough that he wouldn't recognize this person's actual handwriting if he saw it, at least, not on his own. No one wrote like this normally.

Without thinking, he crumpled the note, the rich paper folding slowly with his grip. His teeth ground into each other, the muscles in his mouth taut with a swirling mix of trepidation and rage. Does this person go to his school? Any non-student opening a locker would be cause for alarm, especially if it was an older adult. And how else would they find _his_ locker, know _his_ schedule, open it themselves? The note was in the center of his locker, taunting him. It wasn't haphazardly shoved into the vents, it was placed there, delicately and down to the exact centimeter.

Nausea churned in his abdomen. He knew it was silly, to think it was over because the police came by and everything was quiet for a while. But having hoped that already, the sinking reality disappointed him that much more.

This was evidence now. He smoothed the note out with his hands, tucking it into a binder. He had to hold onto this one, especially since the last note had disappeared. He briefly put his head into the locker space, inspecting the area carefully.

It didn't look like they took anything of his, but - he noticed a cream colored envelope taped to the ceiling, not viewable when looking from the outside, hidden by the upper lip of the locker itself. He carefully unstuck it, the tape ripping cheap blue paint from tarnished metal. Wedging his fingers under the adhesive, Kokichi opened it.

Photos. He guessed as much from feeling their outlines in the package. Standard stalker behavior, he thought, a involuntary grimace forming on his face. He pulled them out of the envelope.

The first one was a photo of him, his hand pushing curtains away from the window to look outside. Wasn't this the morning after the sleepover, when he was checking to see if the police had left? He swallowed, saliva tinged with the bitter taste of bile. He hadn't seen anyone strange then. Where were they hiding when they took this?

Overpowering his unease, he flipped to the next photo.

Kaede?  
A shot of her inside a shopping mall, walking beside another blonde girl, laughing.

A shot of panic quickened his breath, next photo. Maki and Kaito at a park, holding hands, the male's face expanding with laughter while the girl hid her grin with her free hand.

Next. Shuichi framed by a window pane, shuffling through some papers at an office desk.  
That was the last one, cycling back to the original photo of him.

His mind steeped slowly in confusion, wide eyes staring down the glossy prints. This felt more explicit, the previous note a subtle foreshadowing to this escalation. Was the stalker following them too? He thought it was only him, the rest of them never mentioned anything abnormal or scary. He may have kept quiet, but Kaede and Kaito had plenty of people who would support them if they divulged any issues. 

What if - his eyes stung as the thought passed through his brain - they were being targeted because of him? Was he in danger? Were _they_ in danger?

A familiar feeling jabbed at him, digging its fingers into his nerves, tearing open his skull. He whipped his head around.

Nothing.

His throat convulsed, his body wanting to vomit.  
'What did I do?' he thought, 'What should I do now?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags have been briefly updated. As always, thank you to everyone who has left kudos/comments/read this!


	4. You

There had been little deliberating on his part. His head felt bloated with fear, but the option to tell or not to tell his friends about the development - well, there was no decision to make. If other people were in danger, the situation was out of his scope of control. He _had_ to let his friends know; he would rather they hate and curse him for dragging them into his mess than for them to be found dead somewhere. All because he kept his mouth shut, too scared to say anything. There would be no denying that it was his fault then.

He gingerly pushed the photos back into the envelope, hiding the shaky smears of his fingers on the photo gloss. The corners of the pictures' caught on the delicate paper. He smashed past them, throwing the package into his bag. The fluorescent lights lining the school hallway started beating down on him like spotlights. Come one, come all.

Seconds stacking on minutes stacking on hours, lunch hour finally struck. Kokichi clambered to his feet as the bell rang, a chorus of chairs scraping against cheap tile following his lead. Passing the lines - passing the students, faceless and stumbling, lips popping with endless chatter - he saw Kaito and Kaede, already at their usual spot next to the row of chemistry classrooms. They were hunched towards each other, legs crossed on concrete flecked with stomped gum. They stopped smiling at Kokichi's arrival.

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, canines sharp in the sensitive skin.

"What happened?" Kaede asked.

Kokichi shuffled in place, unzipping his bag and fumbling for the envelope. When he grabbed it, his fingers stumbled - the photos scattered with a gentle fluttering sound. Kaito moved to pick them up, and a dense curtain of silence draped over all of them, eyes trained on the prints. Kaito's enamel glinting behind his sneer. Kaede's eyes wide enough to reveal her irises' full circumference.

A faint growl rumbled in Kaito's throat. "Is this a joke?"

Kaede gathered the photos together.

"These are from the weekend. I-I-I," she stuttered, lips heavy and dumb, "I have to, uh."  
She didn't finish her statement, her body moving hypnotically without her input.  
Not needing any explanation, the two males followed close behind her.

 

Shuichi sat by himself at a table near the library, absorbed in a thin paperback. Their shadows slowly casting over the pages of his book, he paused in the midst of biting his pastry and glanced upwards.

"Kaede," he began, but the blonde girl interrupted him, slamming the photos down on the table. The metal legs rattled against the force of her hands. He put his food down, peering curiously at the group before shuffling through the stack, sunny eyes drinking in every detail. His expression turned frigid.

He evened out the stack, tapping the edges on the table.  
"We should go to the police, right?" It wasn't really a question. It was just the truth.

 

Kaito and Kokichi went together after classes ended, to no avail; the police did not want to do anything. There was no obvious threat, they said, condescension dripping from their words like thick honey. It's not illegal to take photos. Maybe someone just has a crush on you. Kaito turned belligerent first, but the conversation didn't leave Kokichi in a great mood either. They talked over on another; that's ridiculous, there must be something, how can you do nothing?

They shooed them out of the office.

Kaito remained unruly after they left, the veins in his forehead prominent. What a waste of time. He ranted viciously on their way back.

Now, Kokichi only worried more when the eyes were away.

 

"My teacher caught me in the hall and made me go to class," Kaito complained, crumbs scattered around his metallic tray. "This is bull. Nobody is doing anything to help. They'd rather wait until we were found dead in a gutter somewhere."

He shoveled food into his mouth, molars angrily gnashing together. The group sat in a different area now, a cautious and overall meaningless move. They crowded around the cafeteria table that wobbled uncertainly under their weight.

Kaito had staked out Kokichi's locker earlier, trying to catch whoever had been leaving notes during the act, but his previous attempts showed that they didn't come by between classes. That had been Shuichi's first hypothesis - the stalker could be masked by the steady stream of students going class to class, hidden in plain sight. But if they weren't going during the five minute breaks between bells, then they must be coming during class time. The notes always appeared in the middle of the day, albeit unpredictably. It was probably a student, since a student opening a locker wouldn't be cause for alarm. The faculty didn't have every assignment memorized, so the staff roaming the halls wouldn't know as long as the person wasn't acting suspiciously.

Kokichi picked at his lunch, downtrodden. Nothing especially dangerous had happened yet, but today marked the second week anniversary of the love notes in his locker. His parents came back, which should have been a blessing considering what had first happened, but the concern had simply moved elsewhere. Fives notes rested deep in his backpack, placed inside a manila folder. The notes came erratically, and he always read them, slamming past the fear that settled into his belly. Curiosity got the best of him every time.

All he could think was evidence, evidence, evidence. Inexperienced as he was, even he knew he needed to keep them on hand for when something big happened.

It felt sickening. He was waiting, hoping for something terrible to happen, just so it could be over.

His friends remaining supportive was something he hadn't expected. He had expected the fear to scatter them, staying far away in case they were also targeted. The stark opposite had happened - they formed a tighter barrier around him, accompanying him always. He was never seen alone now, his friends swapping out to walk him between classes. It was easier to find spot someone suspicious that way.

That's what they thought, at first. It was a struggle in the beginning, because Kaito would be too vigilant, ready to snap the wrist of anyone he saw flashing a cellphone in their direction. Walking with Shuichi was awkward, because he never made conversation with him, too busy with his sharp focus trying to take in every detail every second. Kaede was nice, but she had no confidence that she would be able to protect him, resulting in two nervous classmates who unintentionally egged on each others' anxiety.

It started terribly, but the acts weren't lost on him. His friends were trying their hardest, and they wouldn't allow Kokichi to refuse their help. As much as he wanted to put on a bold front, he was scared. He was scared of being alone, ever.

"Was there another one today?" Shuichi asked flatly, his own lunch neatly finished and pushed to the side. Kokichi rustled inside of his bag, placing it on the counter. Kaede leaned in, straining to read the ornate letters crowding the paper.

_Nothing will keep us apart anymore, I promise._

"They're being cautious..." Shuichi sighed, his voice strained with exhaustion. "They're deliberately not saying anything too threatening. Not that we would know who to report anyway."

Kaito abruptly slammed his fist down on the table, the loud clang vibrating through the surface. The other three twitched, jumping at the sound.

"Fuck! I'm so sick of this bastard!" His fingers twitched, still saturated with anger. "Coward!"

"Calm down," Shuichi hissed through his teeth. Kaede shrunk into herself, startled from the outburst. The air turned stiff and unforgiving. Breathing too loudly became uncomfortable.

The atmosphere has been like this often, Kokichi thought miserably. By trying to figure out who the stalker was, they were slowly driving themselves crazy. There was too little information to do anything, and the frustration from adults refusing to help them overpowered their emotions. They stuck together because they had to, but the tension made their meetings difficult to stand.

Shuichi lifted up the note to the sky, sunlight filtering through the stationary, smashed pulp scattering soft shadows on his face. The dark circles under his eyes were more noticeable in direct sunshine. The note was regarded more leisurely now, a habit more than a serious task.

"There's a number hidden in there," Kaede suddenly gasped, rising from her seat. The others straightened, confused by her outburst. She gestured, Shuichi offering her the scrap of paper in response. Laying it out on the table, their heads gathered in the center as her finger smoothly trailed over the intricate curls.

"There!" she exclaimed, tracing lines between the gaps of fancy calligraphy. The white space formed a reversed number five. "It only looks like that from the back, that's why I didn't see it until Shuichi held it up."

"Show us the other notes again," the detective buzzed excitedly, pupils dilating. Kokichi frantically dug around his bag, pulling out his manila envelope. He unceremoniously shook them out of the package.

Four, including the one he'd gotten with the batch of photos.

_My heart is aching for you.  
Can you feel it as well?_

_Only I can suck the poison out of you._

_Ultimately, it doesn't matter how you feel._

_Remember this life as best you can._

He remembered the last one had scared him badly, so badly he almost burst into tears when he got it. He skipped the rest of school that day, parents perplexed by his claim of sickness but understanding. They didn't question him about it, and he didn't care to explain. He wasn't sure he could handle his own parents disbelieving him, and even then, the police already refused to help. The situation would just stress out his parents more, and they had enough of that with work already. All he needed from them was to stick around, and he would, at least, be safe at home. He hoped that would be enough.

They each took a previous note, scanning it intensely. It was easier to see from the other side, each finding their numbers relatively quickly. Once they knew what they were looking for, noticing the numbers became effortless.

Shuichi scribbled down the numbers the corner of the notes and swapped them around, putting them in order.

(1) _Ultimately, it doesn't matter how you feel._  
(3) _Remember this life as best you can._  
(5) _Nothing will keep us apart anymore, I promise._  
(8) _Only I can suck the poison out of you._  
(9) _My heart is aching for you. Can you feel it as well?_

"Why would they put numbers on these notes?" Kokichi frowned at the scattered pieces of paper.

Shuichi swiped his hand against his bangs, tucking them behind his ear, lips parted in thought.  
"There are still gaps. We're probably missing pieces that make the pattern come together," he hummed, intrigued.  
"But why are they trying to send a message like that? It's not like they need to be any more discreet about who they are," Kaede said, brow knitting in frustration.  
"They're fucking crazy, that's why."

They looked towards Kaito, who was staring into the distance with an intense, ferocious glare. Kokichi felt a shiver travel down his back.

"No way we're going to wait long enough for them to spell it out."

 

"Drive safe," Kokichi called out, body halfway hanging out of Shuichi's backseat. Kaito tilted his head back, a grin plastered on his face, flashing a thumbs up at his direction.

Cars were safer than walking home alone, the group reasoned. Kokichi and Kaede carpooled with Shuichi, who lived closer in their direction, and Kaito started driving his car more often to escort Maki around, who had taken started taking her own measures to protect herself. They weren't sure if they were all being targeted, but it never hurt to be safe.

Kokichi was about to fully enter the car when he heard Kaito's voice ring out.

"Hey!"  
"What?" He stretched his neck upwards, seeing Kaito standing with a fist extended out to him.  
"Once we find this freak, I'm going to beat the crap out of them for screwing with you! I give you my word on that!"

He couldn't help but laugh, a rare noise during the current events. "Yeah, okay. I believe you."

"Get in and put your seatbelt on," Shuichi murmured from the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition. The engine started humming, supplemented with the light _ding, ding_ of lights flashing on the dashboard. Kokichi did as he was told, giving a final wave to Kaito, who was already disappearing from view.

"This is a nice car," Kaede said with a smile, running her hands over the plush leather, seated to Shuichi's right.

"Ah, I guess," the boy gave a sigh, his left hand awkwardly scratching at his ear. "It was a gift from my parents. I told them I didn't want anything fancy, but their standards aren't normal."

"So, you're rich?" Kokichi piped from the backseat, much less polite than his female counterpart.

"We're ... well to do," Shuichi responded hesitantly.

"What do your parents do?"

"My mom's an actress, and my dad is deputy chief for the county."

"So cool," Kaede gushed next to him.

"Not really." His response was curt, a reaction neither of them had been expecting.

He pulled out of the parking lot silently, changing the subject with a quick, "What about you, Kaede?"

"Huh, me? Uh, we're pretty average. My parents are both scientists, and they're great but sometimes they're not really supportive, I told them I wanted to learn music but they keep telling me it's no good to be a starving artist, and-"

Kokichi blanked out the conversation again, not having much to say. His own family situation was uninteresting; his parents just worked office jobs, too hard and too often, tired all the time. They'd always been planted in the middle ground of society.

"We're here."  
The announcement shook Kokichi out of his thoughts. He swiftly grabbed his bag, hopping out of the car.

"See you tomorrow!" Kaede beamed, waving a hand goodbye.

The car drove off.

 

Once he entered the hall, his mother poked her head out from the nearby kitchen.

"Kokichi, a package came for you. I put it in front of your room." She smiled at him, looking exhausted, her gloved hands full with cooking utensils.

"Okay," he responded simply as she trodded away. He chucked his removed shoes into the corner, as routine.  
He hadn't been expecting any packages, but it didn't take a lot of thought to know who it was. He went up the stairs, finding a small box wrapped in brown packaging paper and tied with twine. He picked it up carefully - no return address, just his name and information typed on a sticker. He probably shouldn't open this, he shouldn't, it's probably something terrible.

His curiosity won, as always.

He entered his room, placing the box on his desk. He snipped the twine apart with scissors, ripping open the paper and stabbing at the tape. He pried apart the cardboard.

Immediately, a pungent odor escaped. Kokichi gagged, the scent overtaking him, his body involuntarily heaving. He fumbled with the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his nose and mouth.

It was basically goo, like fresh octopus legs finely chopped at a sushi restaurant. Shards of something thin and brown sat on the top. Matte textures on shiny slime. Laminated paper lined each side of the box, probably to keep the moisture from soaking into the cardboard. He squinted. 

_Oh_ , the realization rushed him, _these are snails_. Their soft bodies mashed in a pulpy gunk, like someone picked them out during a rainy day and stomped on them until they were paste. Tears sprouted in his eyes; they smelled like rot and looked equally as gross. He had held onto everything else the stalker gave him, but there was _no way_ he was going to keep this in his room.

He slammed the box shut. When passing by the kitchen, his mother called out to him.

"What did you get?" she asked, only half paying attention.

"Nothing important."

He went outside and threw it in the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really long on accident. I also rewrote a little of the first chapter since I felt it was too short. Sorry if the formatting is odd - the spacing changes a lot and I forgot a lot of my html haha woo


	5. Are

Kokichi realized slowly that he did not like himself very much. Those repulsive elaborate notes; the alarm that swelled in his chest; the thin scum of sweat on his pale skin when he opened his locker. He didn't like himself because, in a way, he was already getting used to everything. No longer having those intense, panic-ridden reactions should have been a blessing, and yet it felt like he had lost a very human part of himself in getting to that point. He didn't want to accept this as his new normal, yet he was already there. This was how things were, he expected it, and thus it became the usual.

Another piece of stationary sat on the cool floor of his locker.

This one, he noticed, was especially cramped with words, dark, inky grooves of pen dominating the eggshell cardstock. The clean cut edges of the paper square faintly reminded him of expensive business cards.  
  
_God is looking down on me with kind eyes,_  
_For he has chosen you for me._  
_Oh, but time is passing so slowly._

His teeth locked together, incisors sliding with a hard click. This note was more obscure, the meaning lost in the poetic language despite being longer than the others. He couldn't help but wonder what the point was in changing the language -- it had always been florid, but talking about 'God' and 'choosing him' took the romanticism to a new level. Was that it? They were trying to be romantic? Somehow, the possibility was more upsetting to him. The circumstances rendered silent every sweet tone the note attempted to make. Presently, it was more ominous and weird.

Pondering the meaning was near pointless itself. He would never get an answer when he didn't know who to ask, and he never wanted the opportunity to ask anyway.

Kokichi raised the note against the overhead fluorescent lights, searching for the new number in between the white gaps. It was found easily after a brief moment.

This one was number four.

He stuffed the note into his bag, slamming the locker shut.

 

The first half of the day dragged. Kokichi barely paid attention in class, with his well established C+ average in several of his courses slipping down into mid-range 70s, but he didn't care. School became a bigger source of stress in the course of a month, a den where he would be trapped for eight hours a day with someone he didn't know watching him. From afar, or up close, or completely hidden away. He couldn't know. In absence of his panic attacks, his body decided to feel ludicrously heavy all the time, and it was difficult to move from class to class now without concentrated effort. His escorts had mentioned him looking tired recently, and he was. He was tired. All he wanted was to go home and sleep and never come back to his dumb locker where his dumb stalker would leave him dumb messages.

He didn't move right away when the bell rang, while the rest of his classmates stood immediately like a well-coordinated army, having packed their supplies beforehand. He lolled his head back lazily, staring up with half-lidded eyes at the tiled ceiling. His mind wandered. Anywhere, anywhere but here right now, he thought.

Time passed. Seconds ticked away at the analog clock above the blackboard.

_tick tick tick tick tick_

A warmth pressed on his shoulder.

"Kokichi." A familiarly gentle voice. "It's lunch. We should go."

Kaede looked down at him with a reassuring smile, her hand on him hushing his nerves. Staring up at her, Kokichi thought the lights cast her entire silhouette in a bright halo.

 

 

By the time they got to the cafeteria, the rest of the table was already there.

"Hey, you guys are here," Kaito flashed them a quick smile as he noticed them approaching. Shuichi sat on the opposite side of him, open palm peeking up from the table as a greeting.

Without being told, Kokichi could tell they'd been arguing before they arrived. The hostility between them was poorly subdued, and the air at once felt thicker, like he had entered a cloud of humidity. Kaede took her seat to Shuichi's left, a nervous grin on her face.

"What were you two talking about?" She asked after some hesitation.

Kaito brought his focus back to the boy sullenly sitting across from him. "Shuichi's dad is part of the police, right? We should ask him for help."

"And I think," Shuichi replied blandly, "no."

"I don't get why you're so opposed to it," Kaito began to argue, but Shuichi let out a noise of obvious displeasure in the middle of the statement, his chin leaning against his knuckles, making a show of it: _you're so tedious, I'm barely keeping my head up. Stop talking._ In his periphery, Kokichi could see Kaito's hands strongly gripping the edges of the bench, steadily growing irritated. Anxious spit rose up from under his tongue.

Kokichi took his seat next to Kaito, a few generous inches of distance between them. Those tense hands made him nervous.

"Um, it's not so simple, right?" Kaede interjected cautiously, attempting to diffuse the situation. "Shuichi's dad is a little... overbearing. Besides, we don't have a lot of information to give him anyway."

What could officers do if they were approached by something like this? Kokichi briefly wondered about the protocol - he didn't know much, because before this, he had no reason to wonder. But he was still relatively sure that the police couldn't go running off on their own most of the time, especially if it involved their family. The conflict of interest would be too great.

But then again, Shuichi's father was, what, deputy chief? He didn't know what that term meant except that they were higher up, so was it possible that he could get their case, at the very least, filed and opened? Would it be difficult to do? Kokichi's situation was real, after all, only impeded by the stalker's covert movements and the crude officers he and Kaito had the displeasure of dealing with. Even remembering them for a moment made him bristle.

He thought it was a good idea for Shuichi to tell his dad regardless, but since Kokichi had kept the entire thing a secret from his own parents, it would be hypocritical to expect it from his friends. In the midst of his thoughts, as he stared down at his tray of food, the conversation barreled on without him.

"Wouldn't hurt to try, maybe he could pull some strings," Kaito was still insisting despite Shuichi's unfaltering gaze.

"No way. My dad has no definition of privacy to begin with, I'm not giving him more of an excuse to pry."

A loud groan, and Kaito was throwing his head back, eyes rolling.

"Come _on_ ," he complained, overt distaste coating his voice. "Just bite the bullet. We need help."

"I'm not doing it."

Kaito's eyes narrowed and he leaned in, his torso casting a heavy shadow against the table's surface. "Listen, we need to protect ourselves."

"I'm not saying-"

"What are you going to do if Kokichi gets hurt?"

Kokichi's ears pricked at his name. He stole a quick glance at the squabble, tension so palpable, he expected them to lunge at each other any moment. Kaito's fists opened and closed at his sides, while Shuichi's hands rocked with a subtle tremor, picking at his lip.

"What are you going to do if Kaede gets hurt?"

A sharp intake of breath from across the table. He closed his eyes and thought of a tea kettle on a stove, hot and pouring steam. What a low blow.

It was quiet for a little while, with no response. Then Shuichi yanked down hard on his cap, his face abruptly shadowed, and Kokichi could see his mouth twisting into a harsh scowl. "Fine, I'll do it."

Before Kaito could give a reply, Shuichi slammed his bag on the table, standing in one fluid motion. A slender hand outstretched itself to Kokichi.

"Give me what you have," Shuichi said, uncharacteristically demanding. Kokichi flashed his eyes towards Kaito, seeking some kind of permission, but the other male cast his gaze elsewhere, exasperated by his victory. Kokichi dug into his backpack and carefully brought out the folder he carried with the notes and photos. As soon as he fished it out, it was promptly snatched away.

Kokichi wasn't sure he had ever seen him so angry. Shuichi exuded vitriol from every pore in his body. Tucking the folder under his arm and hauling his messenger bag back onto his shoulder, he swung his legs out from the space between the table and bench.

"I'm leaving now. Bye," he said curtly, already starting to walk away. Kaede's legs twitched uncertainly before she also got up from her seat.

"Uh, w-wait! I'll come with you."

"... Sure." He stopped walking, expectantly waiting to be followed. Kaede looked apologetically at the two before she got up and abandoned her food, taking Shuichi's lead towards the library.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Kaito heaved a sigh, cracking his neck.

"That guy," he scoffed. Watching their backs bobbing up and down in step, disappearing into another building, Kokichi suddenly felt insanely bitter - mad at Shuichi for throwing a meaningless fit, offended that Kaede had so readily abandoned him to take care of her crush, angry that Kaito cared so much about winning that he used Kokichi to strong arm Shuichi into agreement.

It was such a waste of energy.

'What about me?' Kokichi wanted to screech at them. 'Stop fighting with each other and taking it out on _me_! I'm the one suffering the most!' He fussed with his utensils, angrily mashing his fork against a burnt piece of bread, his appetite eliminated.

"I'm so sick of this," he whispered, the words feeling vile as they left his mouth. His remaining friend shifted next to him, like he had forgotten that he wasn't alone. After a long expanse of silence, Kaito spoke.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," Kokichi said, instinctively forgiving, but he didn't really feel okay. The toast reduced to an unappetizing, spongy wafer. Not that it had looked good to begin with. "I just don't want anyone to fight."

Having nothing to say, Kaito patted him awkwardly on the back, his hand a wide, hot stamp where Kokichi's neck merged into his spine. It was painfully quiet until the bell rang.

 

 

Getting home was a hassle in and of itself. The weird, spiteful aura of what happened earlier that day stuck itself to them. The usual goodbyes between all of them weren't said at the parking lot - instead, Shuichi sat in the driver's seat, his hat momentarily hooked on a lever protruding from the right side of the steering wheel, forehead knocked against the extremity of the steering wheel. He didn't speak as the other two got into his car; he just put his cap back on as their seat belts clicked and hurled into reverse. The vehicle tossed him around with more violence Kokichi was used to from a car. He held onto the handle above the door for balance, unable to think of anything to say. Even Kaede remained silent this time, unsure of whether or not Shuichi would humor her with an answer if she started talking.

It took forever to get home. When he finally crossed the threshold into his house, he realized: 

He was _so_ tired. Everything, everyone was so troublesome now. The situation devolved into a daily annoyance, with him constantly wading through ink and paper and stress and that gross fluid that rises your esophagus when you're about to puke. He hated school - he was near hating his friends, who he had to see _every single day_ talking about the same topic, over and over, until they were all going crazy.

Fuck those stupid eyes. 'Was this what you wanted?' He feverishly questioned them in his mind. 'If you're going to do something to me, get it over with already.'

Trudging up the stairs, he threw himself on the bed and gathered the thick duvet around him, wrapping himself up like a cocoon. He slept and he slept and he slept, until the sky dimmed outside his window and it was time to for the city to turn on their lights.

 

  
_brr brr_  
_brr brr_  
  
He woke to the sound of his phone vibrating underneath him. Sleepily, he rolled across the bed, wiggling to free his arms from the layer of blankets around his body.

He cringed as he turned on his phone screen, pupils struggling to adjust to the harsh light.

 **> > Kaito Momota:** sorry again bout today  
**> > Kaito Momota:** ill make it up to u

Kokichi rubbed at his eyes. It didn't feel like the same day anymore since he had taken such a heavy nap during the afternoon. The blurry memory of agitation was fading away at this point. He groggily typed out a response, struggling with the limited vision from squinting at the screen.

 **> > Kokichi Ouma:** It's okay, I took a nap  
**> > Kokichi Ouma:** I feel a lot better now  
**> > Kaito Momota:** i did it anyway  
**> > Kokichi Ouma:** What?? Did what  
**> > Kaito Momota:** the make up thing  
**> > Kaito Momota:** u free this weekend  
**> > Kokichi Ouma:** Yes??

He answered the question begrudgingly - Kokichi was pretty much free every weekend. The three he met at school were the only people who knew he existed, let alone ask to hang out, and they didn't even notice him that much until everything happened.

Oh, there it was, irritation, coming up again. Kokichi swallowed, trying his best to keep the feeling down.

 **> > Kaito Momota:** cool  
**> > Kaito Momota:** keep it open  
**> > Kaito Momota:** were going somewhere  
**> > Kaito Momota:** all of us + maki  
**> > Kaito Momota:** a surprs\ie  
**> > Kaito Momota:** surprise  
**> > Kokichi Ouma:** OK you weirdo

He put the phone back down, screen upwards and still lit, watching it curiously for a response.

 **> > Kaito Momota:** c u soon :)


	6. You're

Amusement parks were a lot louder than Kokichi thought they would be. They were like expanses of land designated for noise, lilting in different levels, Dante's Nine Circles of Hell except with every discordant sound on Earth. Sharp, shrilling screams from humans swaying with and against gravity. Endless chatter of family and friends and employees taking orders, giving announcements over the intercom. Far off somewhere, there was a child crying. Kokichi tilted his head back in time to see a garish balloon weaving back and forth in the bright blue sky, a colorful speck on the gathering clouds.

Kaede tore off pieces of the cotton candy she bought next to him. When the rustling and pop of the plastic container caught his attention, she pressed the fluff gently to his lips. Kokichi pleasantly opened his mouth and let the candy dissolve into a sticky syrup on his tongue.

"It's green apple," she said, ripping more of the verdant candy wisps apart.

This was his first outing since high school. This theme park. He had been to them when he was much younger, but those memories were pretty much lost, hazy and dark. He remembered holding his mother's hand, begging to go on roller coasters and crying passionately because he didn't make the height requirement on several of them. He remembered eating caramel corn and letting the ground have almost half of it, his clumsy fingers slipping in the journey between the bag and his mouth.

Those memories felt like he was watching an old slideshow. But this felt different. It felt real.

Surprisingly, everyone was here, together. With how Shuichi had acted for the rest of the week following the argument, Kokichi was relatively sure he wouldn't show no matter how much poking and prodding Kaito did. He spent most of the time sulking, head down, not bothering to join them at the usual table. He would still show up to walk Kokichi between classes like he had promised, but the silence was more profound than before, an impressive feat since he rarely talked to him anyway. Shuichi hadn't been the friendliest person from the start, but the annoyed face he would make amped it up to the next level. Kokichi felt like more of a bothersome problem than ever. He spent the walks wondering how Shuichi's dad acted to make his son this distrustful of him, always angered when he came up.

That was besides the point. At the very least, Shuichi looked more like his usual self today, relaxed and ever neutral, walking next to him and Kaede.

They walked in a sort of unfinished pyramid formation with Kaito and Maki walking in front of the other three. There was a momentary fussing as Kaito unabashedly flirted with her at the entrance, but now they walked together, casually holding hands, bashfulness gone. Kokichi saw them connected in front of him, and he thought the same thing he had thought when he first saw them together.

 _It must be nice to have someone_.

But he did have people now, in a sense. Kaito had planned the entire trip for him, even paying for his ticket. Kaito insisted that they needed to have some fun, to do something relaxing to take their minds off of the terrible mood at school, especially with midterms coming in two weeks. In the middle of everything, Kokichi had forgotten about the tests he needed to study for. It didn't matter much; he wasn't sure he would've been able to concentrate anyway if he remembered.

Kaito let out a whoop of excitement, jutting his finger towards a large drop tower.

"That one!" He exclaimed, a lopsided grin stretching across his face, watching the halo of seats creep slowly up the industrial tower. Kaede blanched, shaking her head immediately.

"No way! That's way too scary!" She squealed, her hand gripping at Shuichi's shoulders, moving behind him in exaggerated terror. Shuichi himself gave an awkward half-smile as he slightly lost his balance from Kaede gently pulling him, taking a step back and shaking his head. As if on cue, the circle of seats dropped, the shrill screaming melding into the smorgasbord of sound around them.

"Aw, come on!" Kaito turned to his girlfriend, dutifully waiting beside him. "Then, Maki?"

"Child's play," she responded with a coy upturn of her lips.

"What about you, Kokichi?" Kaito was still smiling too enthusiastically, so much so that Kokichi was starting to reconsider not wanting to ride it with him. He wavered for a second, watching as the human specks rose again after the first dramatic fall. 'I don't know' was on the tip of his tongue.

But he said okay, and it was so good. When he was strapped into the ride with that clunky harness pressing into his shoulders, he felt a little tickling at the pit of his stomach, and as he rose, he felt it move to the bottoms of his feet. The apprehensive wiggling of his toes as he surveyed the land from above, watching the ground steadily become a gridded slab under him; the rush of adrenaline when the ride succumbed to gravity, blood rushing to his head and the wind whistling past his ears; his hair flying upwards, strands stinging his cheeks as they whipped against his skin.

When he got off the ride, it was like the world was more colorful. A great rush of adrenaline and endorphins filled his brain, and that weird high remained for a while. He started laughing harder at stupider things, swapping places with Maki before he realized it, joking loudly with Kaito as the three behind them walked with quiet amusement. At one point, they tried to eat from the same churro to see if it could work as a terrible rendition of the pocky game, and it didn't work because _of course it didn't it was so dumb_ but also they were laughing too hard, and the mouthful of cinnamon and bread was a sweet failure. He wasn't sure he had ever felt this happy in his life, braiding the scenery on the tracks, wobbling on the fake train ride, shyly picking out the white horse on the carousel.

Shuichi (rollercoasters give me headaches) and Kaede (too fast or too high or too scary) didn't ride on most of the things the rest of the group did, but they seemed to have as much fun watching everyone. When he was spinning around on the horse, they waved to him, arms leaning against the green fence separating the ride from the crowd. Kokichi had happily dipped his head back, arms outstretched at his sides, a toothy beam flashing back at the smears of slate and straw hair in the distance. He thought he could see them laughing and he spoke out a loud "good!" to no one in particular.

After a while, they settled back down and wandered aimlessly through the park, trying to spot other rides they were interested in trying. Maki pointed one out this time, her finger gesturing to what looked like a haunted house, molded gray skulls positioned around the entrance with a dull shine.

"There," she said, but she was making her way to it already without listening for a response. Kaito followed close behind her, looking to the others to see if they would come.

"Are you going in?" Kokichi asked the other two out of courtesy. Shuichi blinked once, twice at the opening before he gave a small shrug.

"I guess," he responded, and he started walking. Kaede scrabbled behind him, a weak, "I-I'll go in too!"

 

The place was scarier than Kokichi was expecting. The haunted house had a singular pathway leading to several different sets, but the entire place was pretty dark and seeing things people normally only saw in horror movies was enough to alarm him on a subconscious level. The terrific ambiance made it hard to move on his legs on his own. Low strings in the music, creaking and stuttering of wood.

He stepped foot onto a fake bridge over a dry river in the midst of the woods, only to scream and knock violently into Maki as an actor pounced towards him. As he strongly gripped her shirt, he could hear her snort in derision.

"I've seen puppies scarier than this place," she laughed, the only one who had no reaction so far. She tried to pull forward but was sidelined by Kaito who let out some sort of noise - a high pitched yowling, totally unconventional when he looked the way he did - and she grabbed at his fists which were heightened to fight. "Don't punch the actors, you dweeb."

Desperate to find something to hide behind, Kokichi spotted Shuichi in the dark, shoulders up in anticipation, golden eyes scrambling to see the possible actors in the dark. He made a move towards him - an animatronic popped up by his left side and he shrieked instinctively, as loud as he could muster, stumbling into the detective near him.

"Whoa!" Shuichi yelped, catching the shorter boy by the shoulders in surprise. "Are you okay?"

"I didn't think it would be this scary," Kokichi blubbered, clinging to his arm with a tight grip. Shuichi dithered for a bit, clearly caught off guard by the addition of body heat, gaze flickering from his arm to the other side of the room.

"Then," he said, "You can stay behind me too, I guess."

Kokichi realized that Kaede was also hidden by Shuichi, her hand clutching at his shirt while she squeezed her eyes shut. The detective was too thin for them to both be adequately covered, but it would have to suffice. They continued onward, albeit very slowly, with both friends behind Shuichi staring at the floor to maneuver themselves. Maki and Kaito were now out of sight.

Occasionally, Kokichi would glance around the rooms they passed through, barely hidden by the narrow back. A room of many mirrors, a dusty attic set, a room with body bags hanging from the ceiling, swaying wildly. Every now and then an actor would startle them, and he and Kaede would shriek and attach themselves harder to Shuichi, who would wobble a bit at the added weight, laughing as he dragged them along.

Minutes passed, and then a soft whisper, "We're at the exit."

"Oh," Kokichi looked up from the floor, breathing a sigh of relief. He let go of the grip he had on his sleeve. "Already? Piece of cake. Didn't scare me at all."

"Yeah, me neither," came a muffled reply from Kaede, he face still buried into Shuichi's shoulder. Shuichi puffed a soft noise of amusement at her response.

"Why did you come in if it was going to scare you so badly?" He questioned, nudging her with his shoulder.

"Because you came in," Kaede lifted her head with a pout, a faint blush on her cheeks. "I didn't want to be the only one who didn't do it."

"You're silly," was the detective's only reply, and they exited the building, sunlight burning their eyes.

 

 

Starlight descended on them quickly, and they headed for the Ferris wheel as the last attraction on their list. Kokichi was blatantly alone, except this time it was by choice - he dodged Kaede's offer to sit with her and Shuichi, three in a row. He didn't want to cramp into that short space just to have company, and after being surrounded by crowds all day, the prospect of being by himself was strangely pleasant.

He was reaching the top of the wheel, and he drank in the view. There was something beautiful and wholly different about how the city looked at night. It was like a sea of glittering stars, colorful sequins woven into roads and flat plots of dark land. He could see the freeway from here, lined with shining lights, moving and stuttering and moving again.

The world was really beautiful. His daily life had been so maddening, he had forgotten - it feels good to be alive. 

It feels good to live. 

He tore his eyes away, fearful that he would start bawling if he stayed on that train of thought. Instead, he peeked downward at the seats below him which sat Shuichi and Kaede together. He saw with an odd sense of satisfaction that she had shyly moved her hand over to Shuichi's, her fingers tentatively touching his knuckles. Her head was dipped slightly towards her opposite shoulder in embarrassment.

Shuichi's mouth moved at a steady pace, his face turning towards her. He was smiling, a tender expression on his face, thick lashes flickering as he blinked. He had said something, and she turned around, and Kokichi watched as he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.

Kokichi shied away from the scene, looking back out onto the landscape, suddenly feeling intrusive and perverse. He didn't expect an intimate move when he started focusing on them. By the time they had gotten off the ride, Kaede looked like she had been set on fire, burying her scarlet face in her hands.

He could hear Shuichi laughing again.

 

 

Dinner together went leisurely, having stopped at a ramen shop close by the amusement park itself. They talked about different things, finally, little topics here and there. What are you doing after graduation? How was studying? Senioritis was kicking in, but midterms were also coming up fast, and then there was spring break to think about. Kaito and Maki both had family plans to go on vacation that week, while Kaede and Shuichi confided that they had little to do besides work. Kokichi himself had no plans - his parents just went on vacation anyway, and he didn't want to go anywhere in particular. He wouldn't even know where to go if he had the option of flying anywhere, and he didn't have that many hobbies. Time idly ticked away at him since he was born. But maybe he could try something - today had made him feel a little more motivated.

They had paid the bill and were leaving the restaurant when Kaede quipped, "Shuichi, is that a parking ticket?"

"What? I'm parked in a legal spot." Shuichi frowned, reaching towards his windshield and dislodging the paper tucked under his wiper. He regarded it for a moment.

"Oh," he smiled dryly, holding it up. Kokichi stopped breathing. He could see the thick, horrifically familiar writing from here.

 _Your friends can't do anything to save you,_  
_Once they're gone, you'll be all mine._

"Number two," Shuichi said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a brief happy kokichi was nice to write. i wrote this in a really cold starbucks, new chapter will be a little late because i need to let my fingers thaw
> 
> also personal note: i didn't expect this fic to have so much build up when i started it, but it just worked out that way. we are slowly but surely getting to the terrible things, don't worry


	7. Mine.

Kokichi hadn't slept that night. Of course, it was impossible. The events of the night before replayed on a loop underneath the darkness of his eyelids.

When he saw that note, something deep in him fractured; shock crumbled into anger which boiled up in him, blood pounding painfully against his arterial walls. For a split second, his vision turned into a scarlet haze, and then he was pinning Shuichi hard onto his car, hand outstretched and furiously clawing for the note.

"Give it!" Kokichi rasped through clenched teeth, but Shuichi held it far above his own head. It was a futile attempt when it came to their differences in height. It didn't stop him from digging his nails into Shuichi's sleeve, trying to force his arm down.

"H-hold on," Shuichi said, staring down at him with widened eyes, trying to put distance between them, "Calm down first."

" _You calm down!_ " Kokichi shrilled. " _I'm going to rip that thing to shreds!_ "

He absolutely would have if he had gotten his hands on it. It was a useless form of revenge against the person who was ruining his life, but it was _revenge_ nonetheless and the need to destroy the reminder of his pain raged in him. In that moment, there was nothing - just him and that damn note.

Kaito placed his hands on his shoulders and peeled him away from the detective, who wobbled uncertainly as the force pushing against him was taken away.

"It'll be okay, man," Kaito said quietly, an unusual tenderness in his voice, and all at once Kokichi began to cry. He balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his eyes, sobbing hot tears that tore at his throat. _Why does everything have to be like this?_ He thought bitterly to himself. But there was no point in deliberating it, because he still knew whatever reason probably had little to do with him. Either way, the person had come and gone and it had been done. All there was left was to deal with the aftermath.

"Maybe you should take him home instead. I'll hold onto this for now." He heard Shuichi murmuring. Kaito gave a hum of agreement.

The ride home had been quiet. Maki had given him a small pack of tissues which Kokichi used to carelessly wipe at his face, and the truck was filled with sounds of the radio accompanied by his occasional sniffling. To calm himself down, he focused on the announcer's voice droning about the news:

'... real estate prices are down this quarter across the XXX neighborhood, but experts say ...'

'... the company has stated that they're looking into healthier options so they can ease concerns ...'

'... a suspect has been arrested for the murder of Yumeno Himiko, whose body was found in XXX county last year ...'

Maki turned the radio off. "He doesn't need to hear stuff like that right now."

They sat in silence for a little while until she spoke up again.

"My mom and I are going to Vegas for spring break. I'm really excited for it." Maki rambled, making effort to fill the car up with sound again. "It's the first time we're going on vacation together. It's been busy with prep school and her working all the time."

Kokichi heard her picking at the polyester webbing of her seat belt.

"Is your dad staying behind?" he asked. Maki shook her head.

"Dad's not in the picture," she answered simply. Kokichi mumbled a quiet "sorry", taken aback by her blunt response, but Maki shrugged and smiled at him from the front seat. "It's okay, you didn't know."

"It's complicated," Kaito said, giving the bare minimum of context while Maki nodded along with him.

"I always wanted to see a magic show there," she continued, leaning her head against the car door, "I heard from a friend that they're amazing, even if they're just gimmicks, the showmanship is enough to have a good time..."

She continued talking for a while, and Kokichi heard the inquisitive back-and-forth between the couple but didn't quite listen to any of it. With his tears finally stopping and his breathing evening out, he felt floaty and immaterial. He didn't need to focus, so he didn't. He calmed down faster having the two talk to each other like normal, and they were pulling up to his house before he could process how much time had passed.

 

The following night was exactly the same; Kokichi was lying down on the bed, tucked under thick comforters, struggling to quiet his mind. It wasn't unusual for him to be tired, but he was usually able to get in a few hours of sleep in a night. Whether or not they were comfortable or completely restful hours was up for debate, but it was sleep nonetheless. Not being able to sleep at all was a new concept. This was the first time where he desperately wanted to slip into unconsciousness and his brain simply wouldn't.

He lay in the dark with his back to the door, his eyes closed, attempting to think about clouds, or sheep, or something else than what's been happening to him. He eventually focused on his breathing, willing his overactive mind to occupy itself.

Inhale deep.

Hold your breath...

Exhale loud.

His chest rose and fell slowly in the blackness. At some point, his body tricked itself into thinking he was falling asleep, and he felt his muscles slowly unspooling themselves, falling lax on his bones. His thoughts devolved into finely grained static, and his eyelids started feeling heavier and heavier. Somewhere in the haze of exhaustion, he could hear a soft clicking and the shushing of the wind.

Kokichi froze, his eyes snapping open.

The familiar sensation of dread crept into his nerves.

 

Those eyes, _the_ eyes - they were _here_.

 

Kokichi couldn't move. He laid there, wide-eyed, his body unresponsive to his panic. Just like the first time he had sensed this person in his room. The presence moved to the side of his bed.

Before he could think about reacting, a chilled hand intertwined themselves into his hair, twisting his head around, pushing his face hard into the pillow. He gave a muffled gasp that only made the hand increase the pressure, the thick cotton smashing into his nose, blinding him completely.

His hands flew up to his head, instinctively wanting to fight back, but something metal pressed into his neck, the cold biting deep into his jugular. Kokichi stilled with a small whimper, letting his hands fall back down. He could hear the person the eyes belonged to breathing softly beside him. A stark contrast to his lungs desperately sucking in air.

"Shh," the figure hushed him. Kokichi tried to obey, but it was difficult to do when he couldn't breathe, his labored breath loud in his ears. His shoulders shivered and heaved quietly as the metal pressed further on his neck. _Oh my god, oh my god._

 _Ignore the knife and calm down_ , he commanded his body ferociously, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could manage. _Just stay still. Please, please._

_I don't want to die._

The body over him was shifting. Kokichi kept himself face down even when the hand untangled itself from his hair, releasing the pressure that was smothering him. He took in a shaky breath as he heard shuffling cloth. Something was placed onto the bed next to his ear.

A click. The hand returned to his head, although it pressed on him lightly this time, a small reminder.

A prerecorded, blatantly edited and barely audible voice played beside him.

**Ah, Kokichi. I'm so hurt. I thought I was clear with my warning, but I guess not.**

Kokichi trembled at the mention of his name, gravelly in the midst of pops and clicks of the recording.

**You've been busy, telling everyone about us.**  
**I'm glad you're excited, but it's not how this works.**  
**I know the names of your friends, where they live.**  
**They're cute, too. Kaito, Kaede, Shuichi, Maki.**  
**I wouldn't mind having them either.**

He was chewing on his tongue, desperate to keep quiet.

**But I'm not so mean.**  
**I'll give you a chance to earn my forgiveness.**  
**I trust you'll understand.**  
**Don't tell anyone we had this talk, and don't move until I leave.**  
**I don't mind whatever you choose, but ...**

He shook violently, and the knife was ever present on his feverish skin.

**... you have a lot to lose, don't you?**

_Click._ The tape turned off. 

Then the pressure on his head was gone, and the knife was removed from his throat. He heard more shuffling as the figure beside him collected the tape recorder and left his room - but he didn't move at all until he heard them walking down the stairs, opening the front door, closing with a muffled thud. Kokichi gritted his teeth, trying not to cry and crying anyway.

He finally lifted himself up into a sitting position after about ten minutes had passed. His fingers numbly touched his face, then his neck, making sure there were no accidental cuts when the blade pressed against his skin. The tears dripped onto the back of his hand, scalding and wet. His head was still burning from where the hands clutched around his hair.

So much for sleeping.

 

_brr brr_  
_brr brr_  
_brr brr_

**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** Did something happen?  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** Please talk to me...  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** What's wrong?

Kokichi set his phone to silent. The text messages came frequently, and he just as frequently avoided them. He walked more carefully now, slipping past his friends, rushing between classes as quickly as he could to avoid being picked up. It was hard to do since they kept tabs on him for the past several weeks, but he managed to sneak past them most of the time. At one point, Kaito had shown up early, waiting by the classroom door until Kokichi left, and in a fit of panic Kokichi launched himself into the crowded hallway, away from Kaito's confused shout behind him.

This was it, right? This was what the stalker wanted.

'I'm alone now. Are you watching?' he thought to himself drearily. 'Come after me. It's just me you want.'

His friends still sat at the same table they always did whenever Kokichi did see them, but the depressing mood around them was obvious. This was what he decided to do, but it still hurt to see them wondering about him, having departed with no explanation. They always sat, anxious, barely making conversation. They weren't there to eat or socialize, they were there for Kokichi to find if he decided to show up again.

A week passed with no activity. More texts.

 **> > Kaede Akamatsu:** Kokichi  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** Why are you avoiding us?  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** Shuichi's worried about you too.

Next day.

 **> > Kaito Momota:** dude, whats happening w u  
**> > Kaito Momota:** was the note that bad  
**> > Kaito Momota:** u shouldnt deal w this on ur own

In class.

 **> > Kaede Akamatsu:** I'm sorry  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** If it was something I did  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** Can't we just talk?

After school.

 **> > Kaito Momota:** srsly if u dont txt back  
**> > Kaito Momota:** im gonna be rly mad at u  
**> > Kaito Momota:** not cool man

He was standing in front of his locker when he got that one, the rest of the students convening for lunch while he stayed indoors. Kokichi was trying so, so hard not to talk. He knew it would be difficult, but he underestimated how challenging it would be to physically avoid his friends. But the thought of them being hurt, being cornered like he was that night frightened him badly enough to follow through. The feeling of the knife, the guttural taunting voice.

( _You have a lot to lose, don't you?_ )

The voice resounded in his head. He could barely breath thinking about it, and his body wracked with tremors without him fully realizing it. He opened the locker hastily with trembling fingers.

A dull pang of fear beat in his chest. Another note.

His muscles felt too weak to pick it up and inspect it. A neat seven with a circle around it was written on the corner, like the stalker had known he wouldn't try to find the number on this one otherwise. He read it without touching it, shaky breaths, barely comprehending it through the fog of horror in his head.

_My time to take you is almost here._

"Kokichi!"

He slammed his locker shut on reflex, a violent clang of metal on metal, badly startled by the voice. He spun around, vaguely aware of the sweat sticking his hair to his face, to see a row of worried faces; Kaede at the forefront, Kaito and Shuichi on stand by.

"Kokichi?" Kaede asked, her voice wavering harshly. "Why are you avoiding us?"

He eyed the open gap to his side, a possible escape route, but it was quickly filled by Kaito, Shuichi taking the gap opposite to him. He was surrounded on all sides now.

Kaito looked down on him with a stern expression, like he was scolding a child. "No, no running away. Come on. Tell us what's going on."

"I, I," Kokichi stuttered, scrambling to find a way to get away from the conversation. 

( _Don't tell anyone we had this talk._ )

"Please, please, I can't tell you. S-stay away from me," he pleaded, staring at the floor after failing to find an exit. He took a few shuffles backwards, his back pressed flush against the wall of lockers. He could faintly hear the metal vibrating along with his shaking body.

"We all agreed to stick together," Kaito said, frowning. Kaede nodded enthusiastically, her pale pink eyes tinged with worry.

"At least give us an explanation," Shuichi insisted.

"I _can't!_ " Kokichi gasped, growing dizzy from the stress. His eyes danced around them. Stay away, stay away, it's too, "It's too dangerous, I can't."

"Dude, something's obviously not right with you," Kaito raised his voice, reaching out a hand towards his shoulder.

( _I wouldn't mind having them either._ )

He could see the figure reaching out to him in the dark, the glint of a silver blade directed towards his neck.

" _Don't touch me!_ " Kokichi shrieked, and he barreled into Shuichi on his left, knocking him off balance in his attempt to flee. He scampered down the hall, ignoring the surprised yell and heavy thud of the detective's body colliding with the floor, followed by a high-pitched squeal of "Shuichi!" and a deeper voiced "Holy shit, are you okay?" 

He left all those sounds behind him, and he ran.


	8. People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : a few brief mentions of gore in this chapter. no graphic torture scenes. death mentions of main characters in ndrv3 canon.

Kokichi ducked into a nearby bathroom when he felt his legs beginning to give out. Locking himself in one of the narrow stalls, he sat on the porcelain and tried to catch his breath. He leaned his head backwards to touch the wall. Hands raked against the damp hair stuck to his forehead.

Once his breathing slowed, he became more aware that he had had a vivid hallucination – an amalgamation of what he _thought_ the intruder looked like, not having caught an actual glimpse of them when it happened – and that it felt terrifyingly real. Shoving Shuichi out of the way wasn’t a calculated method of escape more than it was panic-awakened instinct.

A sob rippled to his throat from his chest, and Kokichi bit gently into the fatty flesh of his hand to stifle it. Everything had been messed up from the start, but it cemented in him how _crazy_ the situation was. He had no idea what he was doing, if it even made sense. All he knew was that he wasn't supposed to talk, and avoiding everyone made it easier to sidestep the inevitable conversation: " _Hey, Kokichi, what's new with the stalker today?"_

The stalker somehow breaking into his home, threatening him more openly than before, playing that tape that carried a thin background buzz. It morphed something in him, like the amygdala was the only working part of his brain, stuck nerve pathways responding with fear at any benign stimulus.

With that irrational sensitivity, he didn’t know if he was making the right choice. Maybe it was simply the most comfortable one, the least risky. He could mull over the pros and cons of the situation as much as he wanted, but there was no point if he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone anyway. His lids fluttered closed, blacking out the grungy tile of the bathroom around him as he thought.

If he told someone: he would (maybe) be able to catch his stalker. Or, his friends and family (maybe) would be murdered before anyone could figure it out, or they (maybe) would do it anyway before police could arrest them. There was a great, plentiful harvest of risky _maybes_ , enough to satisfy him for a lifetime. Maybe…

There wasn’t a decision to make. The person had broken into his house, not once but twice now as far as he knew, and he had no idea how they did it. It may have taken days before the stalker could get in, or it could’ve been an easy part of their plan, something that didn’t take much thought. Kokichi didn’t have an inkling about what they looked like, what their voice sounded like, if they had targeted people before him. The writing on the notes weren’t analyzable from being thoroughly embellished.

If the police believed him, a hard if considering they hadn’t helped at all when he had physical evidence, how long would it take to catch whoever was responsible? Could they catch them before something awful happened, and if something were to happen, would Kokichi be able to live with himself after the fact?

The answer to that one was at least obvious: no. No question about it, any single one of his friends dying would haunt him forever. So – it would be better for him to bite the bullet? The world would move on and losing him would be painful but at the very least it would be _expected_ to some degree. His friends were resourceful, they could continue living without him, so…

Kokichi shook his head, trying to clear his mind. The prime objective was to protect his friends, not engage in a morphed form of suicide ideation. The fact was that he didn’t want to die. Dying by the hands of the stalker wasn’t a sure thing, either; the notes were essentially love letters, so the stalker could as easily be considering taking Kokichi somewhere far away, and he’d have to live with them forever. That possibility was one that seemed the most unreal when he considered it, but it could happen, and worse things have happened to other people. What if –

His thoughts evaporated. The bathroom door was opening. Kokichi trained his eyes on the tiled floor to see shoes walking towards the front of the stall.

There was a timid knock on the plastic, the synthetic material trembling at the small force.

“Kokichi? You in there?” Kaito’s voice bounced off the walls with a slight echo. Kokichi didn’t give a response, but he saw a flash of purple between the gaps of the door and the frame as Kaito looked to confirm he was in there.

“Look,” the voice continued, “I don’t get what’s going on with you, but we’re your friends. This stuff – it’s freaking all of us out, not just you.”

Kokichi kept his eyes on the floor, watching as Kaito shifted his weight to the other foot. His pulse throbbed painfully at his temple. There were some seconds of silence, and then, Kaito's hushed whisper leaked through, “We don’t want you to get hurt.”

There was a shuffling, and his shadow drifted across the floor as he walked away.

"Come talk to us when you're feeling better, okay?"

And then he was gone.

Kokichi remained in the stall. His classes went on without him.

 

 

He didn’t move to leave until the bell rang at 3, a blaring signal that the school day had ended. He stretched his legs, shaking them awake in preparation for the walk home – avoiding his friends had the obvious consequence of no longer having Shuichi drive him home, just like the old days. A little over a month had passed yet commuting on his own felt queerly nostalgic to him. The time since receiving the first note had simultaneously gone by too quick and too slow, like slogging through the muddy base of a rushing rapid river. Routine movements masked under overwhelming, messy currents.

At home, he sat watching the TV like clockwork. He turned it on and let some cartoon flash in front of him, resting his chin on his knees, legs pulled up to his chest. It was background noise, drowning out his more unpleasant thoughts again. What if I, could I, should I; Kaede’s worried face, Shuichi’s strangled yell, Kaito’s hand reaching to touch his shoulder. Occasionally, the thoughts leaked into his brain. It didn’t resolve anything, but he could barely help it. It was the only thing he could think about.

His father took a seat next to him, the couch cushion dipping with a creak under his weight. He glanced at his son, who gave him a slight nod of his head, permission to change the channel. The remote clicked to the news. A female announcer, clad in a black dress, sat at the forefront of the camera, rhythmically reading words from a teleprompter over the ribbon graphic.

**’Hunt underway for serial killer in XXX county’**  
_Police: previous suspect let go, no motives found_

“Serial killer?” Kokichi parroted. His father adjusted his glasses, squinting at the screen.

“Ah, yes, people at work have been talking about this,” he said. “There’s a big fuss going on about it.”

The news anchor was speaking.

‘… linked to at least four brutal murders in the surrounding area … appears to be targeting high school students … deputy chief of police gave a statement earlier this morning…’

Footage of a grim officer standing at a podium, his badges gleaming in soft sunlight, flashed on the screen.

‘… curious calling cards with the victim’s name left at the sites where the body was dumped, so police are urging citizens to remain vigilant and report if they see anything suspicious. If you see one of these cards, leave the area and contact law enforcement immediately...’

“Poor kids,” his father muttered on his right with a sickened tone, but he suddenly sounded very far away. Kokichi could hardly hear him. The calling cards loomed on the TV, printed on thick ivory card stock, smooth confident lettering, calligraphy instantly recognizable.

'Those are…' His fingers bent at every knuckle, scratching white streaks into his arms. His attention was completely absorbed by the broadcast. His father didn’t notice the way his upper arms were crushing into his ribs, his entire frame pulled into a tense center.

“You should be careful too,” he said, opening his newspaper.

“Okay.” Kokichi pushed the word past wet lips with the last of his breath.

 

 

He ran the tub, the roar of rushing water filling the room. Air choked out of him in harsh wheezes.

 **> > Kaede Akamatsu:** Did you see the news?  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** I can’t believe this is real  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** I’m coming over right now  
**> > Kokichi Ouma:** don’t  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** You literally can’t say anything to convince me not to come right now.  
**> > Kaede Akamatsu:** Be there in 10.

Reading the texts was difficult when his hands were shaking so badly. All he could see were smearing black letters on a white background, speech bubbles twisting in his grip. His eyes rolled in their sockets. He was so light-headed that he thought he might pass out – he seated himself at the edge of the bathtub, his feet sloshing into the hot water, trying to get the steam to wake him.

There was no point in staring at his phone, so he put it on the bathroom counter within arm’s reach and pushed his face into his hands. In the haze, he thought to fill his lungs up to capacity, sucking oxygen like a fish drowning on land, holding desperately to air before letting it out with a hard exhale. The running water buzzed in his ears.

He had looked into the excruciating details about the four murders -

( _maybe more, we can’t know for sure, please contact us if you have further information_ ) 

\- and they weren’t lying when they had said the murders were brutal. They were disgusting, Kokichi was shocked when the actual broadcast had reported so little. There had been some filler footage of the police recovering the bodies, spread out over a wide area and an array of different environments. The victims’ profiles briefly appeared in sweeping red graphics. All high school students, photos ripped directly from social media. All smiling sweetly, their eyes the shape of tangerine slices, cheekbones pushing against their lower lids.

Their names in dark print under them: Tsumugi Shirogane, Angie Yonaga, Rantaro Amami, Himiko Yumeno. It was a rough estimate based on the dates they disappeared, but they didn’t know for sure if they were killed in that order. Some of the bodies were too disfigured to tell an accurate time of death –

(is that going to be me? that's how they'll find me? is that _me_?)

"Police say the victims were most likely tortured for days after their abduction based on their wounds," the news anchor's voice boomed in his memory, rocking his bones, slicing into the sticky tissue of his brain. He had searched online, knowing it would send him into a panic and doing it anyway, unable to handle the mystery.

Tsumugi was only identifiable through the name on the calling card, since her body was reduced to a pile of ash with a sprinkling of crushed bones. Angie's wounds were more visibly barbarous, the muscles on her back torn with deep, concise cuts. Rantaro's hands had been missing, his body incomplete with blistering stumps for wrists. Himiko's eardrums had been punctured, eyes scooped out -

( _it's me that's me!! they're going to find me like that all bent and crushed and destroyed_ )

"Fuck, _fuck_!" Kokichi gasped. He heaved as he felt the telltale bile flood up his throat, stomach squeezing, and he scooted closer to the drain and picked up his feet and vomited the little food he had left in his stomach. When he had nothing left in him, his chest still contracted uselessly in reflex. It flooded the bathtub, mixing with the water, a noxious humid odor filling his nose.

His phone didn't ring again. In his muddied thoughts, he had forgotten that Kaede was coming, so he hadn't been suspicious when she never showed up.

 

 

There were police crawling the perimeter when he went to school the next morning. Three skunk colored patrol cars littered the parking lot, surrounded by students craning their necks, staring with intrigue. The school staff was busy desperately rounding up the teenagers away from the officers who were chatting with one another. Hands on hips, their uniformed black and smooth, hats shielding them from the unforgiving heat.

Kokichi tried to enter his first class of the day and was immediately redirected to the main office.

"You're not in trouble," his teacher reassured him, but it didn't help ease his nerves. There was something wrong. The police were there for him, somehow. He went without any fuss.

Kaito and Shuichi were already waiting in the lobby outside a meeting room, seated in cheap plastic seats. The chairs looked like they were meant for elementary school kids. Kaito looked positively ridiculous sitting in one, considering his size, and Shuichi was too tall for it, the small of his back barely supported. Next to them, a new figure sat, but it was someone Kokichi recognized. The officer from the news report yesterday, the grim looking man who had stood at the podium, talking about remaining aware and listing the tip hotline. He leaned towards Shuichi and whispered madly, but Kaito looked more enthralled in what the stranger had to say. Shuichi crossed his arms and angled away from the man. His eyes were half open and glazed over.

Kokichi watched them carefully, not wanting to get too close. The officer must be Shuichi's dad. The report did mention it was the deputy chief of police who spoke the warning. He appeared more intimidating in person than he did on the screen, the creases of his serious face sharper, more defined. Or perhaps he was angrier now than he had been before, judging from the harsh sibilations coming from his mouth.

"- completely irresponsible, this was important information for the case and I had to find out about it today, through your friend," he said, "When something like this happens you should come directly to me-"

Shuichi met eyes with the boy across the room and suddenly stood up. Peculiarly, he knocked his cap upwards, out of his eyes this time, as the other two males turned to face what had caught his attention.

"Ko-ki-chi," Shuichi enunciated every syllable in his name, slowly, carefully, and Kokichi almost collapsed under the intensity of his glare. He had seen that expression forever ago, when Kaito had first mentioned his father and launched that bitter argument between the two of them, but now it was concentrated all on _him._ Shuichi advanced towards him and Kokichi swallowed against the lump in his throat, stumbling backwards without realizing he did so.

"Wh-What?" Kokichi said.

Kaito was making his way over to them as well, concern marking his face as Shuichi leaned in close, lips peeling over his teeth in a scowl, seething contempt.

"Kaede is missing."

His eyes smoldered. They burned like the sun.

"What did you _do_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> アタシは許さない 。
> 
> it's picking up now.  
> i'm basically doing nanowrimo in may. 


	9. Only

Kokichi couldn’t formulate an answer before Kaito intervened. He reached them in four wide steps and clamped a stiff hand down on Shuichi’s shoulder, sharply tugging him away, watching him restlessly like he had to trap a skittish animal in a cage.

“Back off.” The demand was simple, but Shuichi did not move.

Instead, his incisors were stabbing angrily at the insides of his mouth, evident by the agitated movement of his jaw. He stood wordlessly for a few seconds. He tore his gaze from Kokichi as he regarded the man with hand still on his shoulder.

“I’m just talking to him,” Shuichi responded, words too forceful and wholly unpersuasive. Had he even blinked once during this entire confrontation? Kokichi darted violet orbs across the room, glancing by Kaito’s unconvinced expression to Shuichi’s father in the background. He had made to stand up but was flanked prematurely by one of his subordinate officers; even so, he could see those watchful gray eyes sticking to his son’s back as he talked.

Kaito tugged on Shuichi's shoulder again, “He has no idea what’s going on right now. You’re freaking him out.”

"A tragedy." Shuichi redirected his attention to Kokichi. His glower deepened. 'Like staring into an abyss,' he thought. The dark of his pupils made him think of an endless black hole, mysterious and beyond comprehension.

“I know Kaede was headed to your house before she disappeared.” Shuichi continued, deliberately ignoring the man next to him. “So, talk.”

Kokichi was aware that his answer didn’t matter, and it felt like responding at all would cause Shuichi to automatically peg him as a conspirator.

He let his mind boot up slowly; what _hadn’t_ happened yesterday? He dealt with so much over the span of 24 hours that his head was basically mush, memories disorganized and scattered messily on the floor of his brain. He remembered the morning incident; he remembered the TV broadcast; throwing up, tossing water around the bathtub in a futile effort to clean it up, stumbling to his room. He succumbed to an overwhelming fatigue, sleeping soundly for the first time that week, a welcome reprieve. He dreamt of cloudy shadows and dusk settling on him in a wide-open field, and he felt happy.

There was a dim desire to go back home, away from everyone, and return to dreaming.

“I don’t remember her coming over,” he said slowly, voice sounding foreign in his own ears. The skin on his cheeks tingled strangely as Shuichi analyzed him, checking his face for honesty.

“You don’t remember?” Shuichi repeated.

“I saw the news… and I fell asleep after.”

Shuichi gave a hoarse bark of laughter in disbelief.

“I can’t be hearing this,” he said.

“But I didn’t, I didn’t do anything to her. You can ask my parents, they were home with me –” Kokichi said until he saw Shuichi roll his eyes, and he was stopped by the unbridled antipathy on the other’s face.

“I'm not asking if you did anything to her.”

“Then, then wh – “

“I'm _asking_ ,” Shuichi began, flames thrashing behind his eyes, “What did you do to piss off the person who did?”

“Huh?” Kokichi gaped, a deep unpleasantness settling into him at those words. He intuitively folded towards the center of his body, feet planted on the floor like cornered prey readying itself to run. The accusation made him near incapacitated; he was only standing because of the sheer normal force of his bones propping up more bones, and he wished all at once that Shuichi would just stop interrogating him. He struggled to speak again, “I didn’t do anything different – “

“You’re lying!” Shuichi’s voice increased in pitch, accusatory, “The way you’ve been acting, it’s obvious the person following you contacted you somehow. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I – “

“What did they say to you? ‘Don’t tell anyone anything and I won’t hurt you’? And you’d be dumb enough to believe that. Or maybe ‘if you give me one of your friends, I’ll stop following you’?”

“ _What?_ ” Kokichi gave a near screech, unable to stop it before it rose up out of his mouth. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing – trading in one of his friends to save himself? Unimaginable. Unspeakable. The fact that Shuichi even had that thought overshadowed every other insult he hurled at him. “What are you _talking_ about?!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know anything because you stopped talking to everyone,” Shuichi said, “All I know is that you must’ve done something. Someone that methodical doesn’t just kidnap someone because they felt like it.”

Kokichi thought to retort back, but the heavy trod of Shuichi’s dad walking towards them made him shut his mouth.

“Shuichi, stop.” Standing next to his son, Shuichi’s father appeared more absolute, a solid structural pillar of black fabric and glittering golds. In comparison, Shuichi looked like a petulant teen throwing a tantrum, hair disheveled and face festering with anger, showing no signs of stopping.

“You know, I told her she’d get hurt if she hung out with you, but that’s the kind of person she is, she can’t resist helping people in trouble no matter what,” he rambled on, “You knew it too, you knew you were dragging her down with you.”

“Stop.” The warning sounded from Kaito this time. “Don’t talk to Kokichi like that. We’re his friends -”

“ _I’m not your friend!_ ” A passionate outburst. “ _People like you make me sick!_ Both of you, always clinging to her, making her feel obligated to be around you all the time! You're like worms!”

“This is crazy,” Kokichi said softly to no one, his irritation overpowered by a weird concern, conversation moving too fast for him to follow. Shuichi was barely making sense now, and he had a feeling that explaining himself was pointless; Shuichi wouldn’t hear anything he had to say.

“If she dies, it’ll be because of you.” Shuichi hissed. Kokichi could swear he heard something snap as Kaito bristled beside him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Kaito shouted, stepping forward only to be blocked by the outstretched arm of Shuichi’s father, holding him back. Kokichi could tell that Kaito was itching to fight with the way his hands were wringing open and shut by his thighs, but he remained where he was despite himself.

“Enough.” The deputy chief locked eyes with his son, gesturing his head towards the front door of the office. “Outside, now.”

Shuichi opened his mouth for a moment, conflicted, but upon seeing his father’s strict expression he settled, jerking his hat down over his face again.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled. He turned to leave.

The officer turned his attention to Kokichi, who hadn’t moved much during the entire affair and was staring where Shuichi used to stand, shock not yet cleared from his face. Suddenly aware that the other two were looking at him, Kokichi warily moved his gaze to Shuichi’s father.

“You can head into the room,” he said rather gently, a surprising contrast from Shuichi’s earlier scathing words. “We’ll just ask you some questions; you’re not a suspect, so don’t be nervous. And…”

He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a professional-looking business card. Kokichi graciously took it, reading the name and phone number embossed in black.

“Mr. Saihara,” Kokichi breathed. He nodded back.

“Let me know if anything happens.”

“A-ah,” Kokichi tried to thank him but his words caught in his throat as he felt a shiver creep up skin.

It was hot, blood wrenching heat on his side. He turned his head to the right to see Shuichi peering back at him from outside, an intense pair of halogen lights behind muddled window panes. As soon as they saw each other, Shuichi turned away, locks of dark hair swaying to hide his face.

A terrific premonition flashed in Kokichi’s mind: _Something's not right._

 

 

A number of events followed afterwards. Kokichi sat in the room, a cramped white space with no windows and one table, and tried to answer the questions to the police officer sitting across from him. He didn’t know where to begin, but given a clear starting point, the recollection of events across the past several weeks easily fell from his mouth. He told them about everything, the feeling of being watched, the break ins, the photos and notes that had been haunting him. He showed them the text messages he received from Kaede and the one note he still had in his possession. Then, the situation had been explained further to him:

Kaede had messaged both Kaito and Shuichi, having recognized the notes on the news broadcast at 4:30. They both responded quickly. Kaito expressed similar horror while Shuichi hadn't seen the report, having been at his internship. She messaged Kokichi last, finally leaving her house at around 5 PM, as told by her parents who saw her leave. They confirmed she left without anything other than her phone, making it improbable that she had run away.

So, somewhere along the ten-minute walk to Kokichi's house, she had either been abducted or gone somewhere else.

The police talked about possible theories. There were multiple routes that had the same general travel time since the neighborhood layout was a loose grid system, but some paths were less traveled than others. No one had reported seeing her walking outside, but it seemed unlikely that someone would try to kidnap her in the middle of a neighborhood with the sun still out. It may have been that she was led somewhere else, maybe using a ploy to grab her attention and move her to a more isolated area.

But no one had any information beyond this, since no one had noticed her to begin with.

Kokichi's parents came in and verified where he had been. He had come directly home after school with no obvious delay in his schedule, and he had been at home accounted for the rest of the day. They heard him vomiting in the bathroom and assumed he was feeling ill, so they occasionally checked on him when he went to bed to make sure he was doing okay. Kaito similarly went home right away, and Shuichi was at work when the abduction happened. The police assured him that the alibi checks were strictly routine and that they weren't really considered suspects. Then they took his information and his evidence before Kokichi could awe at the idea of being a suspect to begin with.

Kokichi, Kaito, and Shuichi were all prone to bickering with each other, but Kaede was the reasonable person who kept the group from falling apart. She wasn't particularly confident, but she was kind and agreeable, a calming presence in the midst of chaos. They all loved Kaede in some way. Hurting her was out of the question, ridiculous and offensive.

Her being gone made everything feel unreal. Kokichi felt a plethora of questions that had no answers bubble inside of him. Was it for sure the serial killer? Was the stalker for sure the same as the murderer? Most importantly, was Kaede still _alive_? It was true that the other victims were confirmed to have been kept alive for almost a month after being taken, but there could be more victims the police didn't know about, perhaps because the modus operandi was too different. It was so obvious that Kokichi was meant to be the victim himself, so if they took Kaede, then - what did that mean? Did she know something, or was it to send a warning? Had he done something wrong?

"Did Shuichi give you the rest of the evidence I had?" Kokichi asked, suddenly remembering when he had violently ripped the envelope out of his hands. The police officer glanced at his pile of paperwork, appearing nervous.

"Ah, the deputy chief asked him about it, and he said he didn't have it," the officer replied. Kokichi blinked, offput by the change in atmosphere. Talking about the boss's son probably wasn't a great position to be put in.

Kokichi didn't press him out of courtesy, but he wanted to scream. Everything felt wrong. Everything _was_ wrong. He desperately wondered what Shuichi's actions meant. He wondered if it even mattered.

 

 

That night, he dreamt that he was pinned to a grassy field by a strong gravity, unable to turn or avert his gaze. Kaede loomed over him, standing, bent forward at the waist. A brilliant light shone behind her. Blinding and yet colorful, refracting through her body, a thin border of red on her skin.

She smiled down at him, beautiful and radiant, lips creating small dimples in her cheeks. Kokichi remembered looking up at her haloed figure in the classroom. Like an angel.

"Are you dead?" Kokichi wept quietly, his chest shuddering, "Tell me. Tell me if you're still alive."

Kaede gave no answer. Her rosy irises transfixed on him. After a while, she knelt, gently lifting his head into her lap. Despite not being able to lift himself up, she moved him easily. Kokichi closed his eyes, letting the tears fall past his cheeks, curling into the hollows where his jaw ended and his ears began. The soil under his body felt moist and giving, soft crumbles of dirt. Even the pebbles felt soft.

"Sorry, I should've done more. I should've known. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Sobbing hiccups purled through his apology. "Are you still alive? I'm sorry. I can't do anything now. Sorry, sorry."

Something changed. It felt colder now, and he was shivering violently. His lips were still parted as he tried to even out his breath.

He opened his eyes again to see Shuichi staring down on him this time, cold fingers cupping around Kokichi's face, leaning his head back, silently willing him to stare back. He looked into his eyes, gilded and glowing, and in an odd roundabout of dream logic he realized that the brilliant light shining on Kaede had come from him. It was Shuichi, Shuichi's eyes, seeing, knowing everything.

"Sorry," Kokichi said again, but he was no longer crying. The smile above him was cruel and venomous, so unlike Kaede's kind gaze.

Shuichi was laughing.

"Who will be there to forgive you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡ thank you to everyone leaving kudos, bookmarking, or just reading this work, i appreciate you so much even if you don't comment. the next few chapters are planned to be very heavy. specific warnings will be placed at the beginning of the chapter, so please be cautious.


	10. Exist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : blood, assault, eye trauma

The combination of the news report and Kaede’s disappearance caused the neighborhood to fall oddly silent after dark. Every parent in the area gave their children the same cautionary statements over and over: don’t stay out too late, be vigilant, don’t trust strangers, and _please just be safe._ Around three days had passed since the event and there were still no updates, no new suspects, no new information. Kokichi knew that enough time passing would cause everyone’s fixation on the serial killer to also fade.

But he could never forget.

He would’ve preferred staying home indefinitely from that point on, especially after the tensive exchange with both Shuichi and the police, but his parents insisted on him going to school. He wasn’t too annoyed that they were nagging him, considering they came from a place of concern rather than strictness; after all, they still had to go to work, and Kokichi would be safer hidden among a plethora of other people. They changed the locks to the house recently, but being around others was still preferable.

So, theoretically, going to school was safe. Realistically, it was still not particularly enjoyable, and Kokichi still thought that the culprit must go to his school, a stressful idea for obvious reasons. Beyond that, he could hear the entire school body humming like a wasp with rumors - everyone had their own ideas about what happened to Kaede. The faculty made an official announcement right away about her disappearance, hitting on all the right notes about remaining careful and calling the tip line, but nothing significant had come from it yet. It seemed no one had information about her. There were a few false alarms, tips called in out of a desire to be involved in the investigation, and there were still murmurs of her running away. The serial killer was, however, the most popular culprit people thought up so far.

Kokichi genuinely hated hearing other people gossiping about Kaede. It became impossible to avoid the topic, but on a deeper level, he hated the odd fascination with her possible kidnapping. People were more interested in the ‘what’ compared to the ‘who’, only intrigued by the mystery because they wanted to theorize about the gory details of her murder, not because they actually liked her. For him, there was no point in imagining the different things that could be happening with Kaede, run away or kidnapped or tortured or killed. Anything anyone could think of was probably already considered by the police. 

He knew this, but the process of cycling through what-ifs became his daily routine, something he stopped trying to avoid hours after he learned what happened. He frequently thought of hypotheticals. The pain distanced itself whenever he did this. In another universe, Kaede wouldn't be gone, Shuichi wouldn't have pointed the finger at him, Kaito wouldn't be constantly wringing his hands open and shut. 

He was vaguely aware that he hadn't felt anything out of the ordinary in the three days after Kaede vanished, and he tried not to consider the idea that the stalker could just... not come back. It could be that they switched gears completely, and now they didn't _need_ to follow him around any longer. They had gotten a victim and moved on. On another note -

His thoughts shifted rapidly. Wasn't it weird that he had essentially outed himself as the next probable target and the police had yet to move? There was no talk about transferring him to another area or even increasing surveillance on him, actions that seemed relatively straightforward in preventing further deaths. It was as though they were more interested in waiting for something to happen to him.

It was like the world had shifted into a darker, more sinister timeline. _Something is wrong. Something's changed._ The idea knocked dully on his skull, hollow noise rising from bone.

He sat restlessly during his classes. None of his teachers expected him to focus, and he obliged.

 

 

"Do you think she's okay?"

Kaito offhandedly asked the question during lunch and instantly regretted it, flinching from the despondent reaction Kokichi gave him. He popped open a plastic bag of too-ripe fruit that came with his lunch, an acute need to focus elsewhere after the awkwardness he caused.

It wasn’t like Kokichi could give any answer other than “I don’t know.”

He sat across from Kaito, hands clasped over the metal surface of the table, blinking steadily at his nails pressing crescent grooves into his skin. The table felt lonelier every time he sat at it. Kaede and Shuichi were nowhere to be seen, leaving the remaining two to chatter idly between the long, anxious stretches of quiet, surrounded by the babbling of other students who had little substance to say.

"I know there's no point in wondering about it, but," Kaito paused, teeth chewing on the prongs of his plastic fork, "I can't think about anything else."

He said it as though he was admitting a great secret, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Even without his ominous dream, Kokichi couldn't think about anything else either. Kaede was the most prominent thought he had. He didn’t really want to talk or think about anything else, an ironic development considering he had spent every day before then desperately wishing for something other than the stalker to discuss.

"Yeah." He gave a bland response. "Me too."

"And," Kaito wagged the dented fork at him, "Shuichi’s not here today."

Kokichi’s lips separated with a soundless pop at the topic change, not sure how to respond. The outburst he had three days ago was the last time they could manage to have a legitimate conversation with him. Now, every time Kokichi saw him, Shuichi was wandering like a ghost, pale and unkempt, lips moving as though he was mumbling an incantation to himself. They tried multiple times to force him into another confrontation, desperate to get some kind of explanation for his behavior, and they failed in getting a coherent response most of the time. Shuichi refused to talk to Kaito at all, expressionless and silent while Kaito would rile himself up at the lack of response; when Kokichi tried to talk to him, he was just comically mean.

So maybe they weren’t _really_ friends. Kokichi was close to both Kaito and Kaede by circumstance, but Shuichi never appeared if Kaede wasn’t also around. In hindsight, they’d never carried a conversation together without Kaede somewhere near them, only interacting with the others out of polite convention, only doing them favors when Kaede requested it from him. Despite everything, it was difficult not to feel an odd betrayal, if only in the image Kokichi had of him.

“Oh yeah,” Kaito spoke, knocking Kokichi out of his thoughts. “I’m not picking up Maki for a while, so I’ll just drop you off right away today.”

The smaller boy crumpled his face in confusion. Since he switched to riding with Kaito after school, he’d been getting home a little later since Kaito also drove Maki before him. This wasn’t a development he was expecting. “You’re… not picking her up?”

“Yeah, we, uh.” Kaito’s hand scratched the back of his neck, appearing flustered. “We’re kind of fighting.”

“About what?”

“I don’t want her to go out by herself with what’s going on, but she keeps saying I’m being too protective.”

“It's not unreasonable to want to stick together,” Kokichi muttered, put off by the ridiculousness of the argument. Kaito’s expression became more convinced with the agreement.

“Right! I’m not saying she can’t take care of herself, but we have to be careful. The other high school isn’t talking about this stuff since it’s not happening over there, and she’s preoccupied with all her college stuff, but -” Kaito launched into a detailed rant about the conversation he had with Maki the day before. Kokichi occasionally hummed in acknowledgment as he talked, having nothing to contribute, Kaito being satisfied anyway.

 

 

Kokichi waved back to Kaito from his doorstep after he had dropped him off, swiftly unlocking the door and slipping inside. The engine roared behind him as the accelerator was hit, driving away after Kaito saw him safely home.

No one was home. That was his first observation: the house was quiet. A drop of sweat trickled from his hairline along his jaw, and he swiped at it nervously with the sleeve of his uniform. He didn’t like the house when it was quiet anymore, white walls ominous and looming around him. This atmosphere marked when the entire sequence of misery had started.

His parents were likely still at work, assigned overtime. It was typical of them to have to stay behind and come home late. Kokichi knew that their job wouldn’t allow them to refuse the extra work. He knew… but having it happen now was still profoundly unsettling, and he wished he had someone to fill up the house a bit. Being alone made him nervous.

He experimentally flexed his muscles, tense from the muted household, and shimmied out of his shoes. One step at a time. He went up the stairs to his room, opening the door and dropping his book bag at the foot of his bed. Shoulders shrugged off his jacket, hands delicately draping it over his desk chair. When he went back out into the hallway, he made his second observation: a large suitcase was parked in front of his parents’ bedroom down the hall. He normally couldn’t see their door when going to his room, but it was easily noticeable when leaving it.

Kokichi often froze during his panic attacks, a behavior he was painfully familiar with by this point, but this time his legs moved on their own. It was hypnotic, like something in his parents’ room was calling to him, willing his body to walk closer.

He had never seen that suitcase before. He saw the ones that his parents had taken when they went to Hawaii without him, a vacation that happened practically centuries ago. It wasn’t his, and it wasn’t theirs. This bag did not belong to any of them.

Over the jittering of his heart, he was consumed with a powerful curiosity, urging him. 

A hand was placed on the door, left slightly ajar, and Kokichi pushed it open.

 

 

He saw a beautiful red lake on the wood paneling. The shore of the lake trembled, lapping against dark oak, a light trail swaying towards the bathroom.

‘Hey,’ his rattling thoughts pierced him, ‘isn’t this a _lot_ of blood?’

Kokichi felt a fierce jab of pain running up his bones like lightening. Eyes flickered down at his legs. Knees were pressed on the floor. His limbs had collapsed without him registering it, and it was suddenly so hard to breath. His mouth full of cotton. The room was thick with the aroma of dusty pennies.

Without thinking, he crawled towards the puddle of blood, dipped his fingers in its edges like he couldn’t believe what it was. It smeared on his skin, sweltering and swirling together with his sweat. Deer in headlights. Despairing, confusing, out of his mind. Eyes wide like a flower in full bloom.

“Mom? Dad?” His voice sounded in the hollow room pathetically, words trickling from his lips. His heart buzzed in his chest, blood pumping through marrow.

(who? who? who? who?)

stupid, it’s them

Dry tongue darted over chapped lips.

(them?)

them, them

the _**eyes**_!

The door slammed shut behind him.

He reeled back, the deafening noise snapping him out of stupor, but it was too late of a reaction because something was already gripping his hair and yanking him _hard_ to the side, dragging him away from the scarlet lagoon, throwing him into a corner of the room - 

\- his skull knocked onto drywall, stars flashing, darkness coming, eyelids squeezing shut, air rushing from his lungs in a rough gasp.

_idiot!! look at them!!_

A hand slammed into the lower half of his face, knocking him backwards again, away from the wall and colliding him with the floor. Kokichi gave a sharp yelp as his shoulder blades shook with the brunt of the force, muffled by a fleshy palm pressing into him, a starchy glove sucking into his mouth. His vision swayed like he force-opened his eyes in a chlorine pool, waving and dancing, dipping down. He struggled to see through kaleidoscopic vision, trying to identify his attacker.

Spheres of venom.

“You’re early,” Shuichi said, breathless, staring down at him, loose strands of hair slick on skin, wide, wild eyes. “Ten minutes early.”

Kokichi saw the glowing red knife in his other hand and bit down hard.

“Sht-!!” His attacker hissed as his teeth clamped down, and Kokichi thrashed his head in an attempt to dislodge the hand from his face. Slick with drool, the latex slid across his jaw but it scrambled too quickly for him to manage a scream, slamming itself back down over his mouth again. His body moved without instruction, moving on a purely animalistic desire to fight, survive. Seeing Shuichi’s -

_the eyes the eyes the eyes_

\- face twisted, strenuous, determined, bottom lip sliding under the top row of gnawing teeth, the stroma of his irises were canyons. He was going to fall into them.

Kokichi thought he would die and he didn’t want to die no matter what, not so pitifully next to a pool of blood that wasn’t even his, numb and shaking. He shot up his right arm and dug his fingers into his attacker’s left eye. His fingernails dipped inside his head through his eye socket, and Shuichi yanked his head back and screeched, hand shifting to cradle the scratched nerve tissue.

Kokichi flung himself to the side, knocking the other’s body and the knife away from him, scrabbling feet against the floor to get up and run away. He almost regained his footing when his ankle was snagged and pulled hard, sending him flying back to the ground. He landed solidly on his shoulder, narrowly avoiding the risk of biting off his tongue.

“Aughh -” A wet gurgling moan came out of him as he kicked his feet, turning over onto his stomach and uselessly trying to crawl away on his elbows. He wanted to scream, but the fall knocked every bit of air out of his chest and he was hyperventilating too hard to push anything out. A heaviness suddenly settled on his spine and his elbows lost their traction, slipping out from under him. He wiggled his arms behind him and touched a bent leg. Shuichi was sitting on his back, pinning him down on the floor with sheer weight.

An annoyed grunt behind him, " _Stay still!_ "

There was the fumbling metallic sound of a belt being taken off, and then in an instant his head was snapping back, hair taut, neck exposed. Kokichi gave a strangled cry, futiley clawing at the hand tangled in his hair. The leather was snaking around his neck, cool on feverish blushed skin. The slanted end of the belt looped back into the buckle in a makeshift noose.

Shuichi wrapped his hand around the end of it and pulled back with all his might.

Kokichi’s breath hitched as his trachea was crushed, contracting fruitlessly against the belt digging into him. His hands clambered to his throat, scratching and pulling and prying at the leather strap. 

It was no use. 

He was struggling clumsily, muscles going lax without oxygen. His head pounded as his body struggled to circulate blood past the blockage.

In the advancing blackness of his vision, he saw colorful stars and lines. Indescribable shapes. 

Tongue dry from too much air filled with pennies. 

Heard Shuichi breathing heavily over him, shaking.

(mom? dad? mom? dad?)

Sobbing, cheeks hot, no noise coming.

Above him, sniffling. A whisper.

_”Fuck, my eye, that seriously hurts - ”_

And with his heart slowing down, he slowly succumbed to darkness.


	11. To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : mentions of past torture/gore. threat of eye trauma.

While he was unconscious, Kokichi floated.

When he finally woke up, it was a jarring feeling. Swimming in that immeasurable landscape of darkness and then suddenly crashing into light. Lucidity hit him all at once and his eyes snapped open, but it took a few minutes to reorient himself. He was looking at a silver-painted drop ceiling tiled with lights so glaringly intense it made him dizzy. The floor underneath him was warm, soaked in body heat, but everything else was frosty. He could see puffs of smoke dancing in front of his nose as he breathed out his mouth. The room was cold. He was cold. He couldn’t feel his fingers.

He was still wearing the same clothes he had been knocked out in, a white t-shirt he wore under his school jacket and long pants. His legs were free and mostly covered, but his arms were tucked under his back, forcing his spine to curve up uncomfortably. He tried wiggling his wrists. Pins and needles flared in his muscles, accompanied by the grating noise of metal scraping on concrete, and he couldn’t help but wince as the prickling sensation clawed up his limbs. A metal collar locked around his neck, a chain jangling as he shifted around.

It was _so cold._ Where was he?

A strenuous thumping of blood in his temples - the dull beginnings of a headache spread across his scalp and his hands twitched mercilessly, wanting to massage into his overactive blood vessels to calm them down. His breathing went off kilter, uneasy as he recalled his last memories before he passed out. A pool of red. A blur of grays and beiges. Shivering golds. Shuichi and the knife.

He squeezed his hands open and shut a few times, getting some feeling back into them. Whatever was binding him spanned the middle of his forearms, bending his arms at right angles with little purchase in any direction. Felt like metal. Felt unpleasant. His shoulders squeezed together towards his spine, pulled too far back. He rolled onto his side and tried to budge the restraints down a bit. The collar dug into the front of his still bruised throat and sent him into a coughing fit.

His eyes watered. Okay, so the collar and the cuffs were attached. A quick glance down confirmed that the steel chain was also attached at the back; he could see it coiling upwards from behind his neck, feeding into some kind of pulley system that dipped back down into a reel on the floor. It swayed side to side when he moved, pivoting at the wheel above him. A simple mechanism, complicated to install. He wondered if the rest of the room was littered with these types of contraptions.

It was difficult to see much from the floor. There was a wall next to him, a tall smooth structure of stacked bricks. He could see two doors that would be to his left and right if he sat up and pressed his back against the wall. He wasn’t in the center of the wall, because the left door was much closer to him. A dark desk and its accompanying swivel chair tucked into the corner further away from him. A large cherry wood and marble island blocked most of his view, towering in the center of the room.

Think, think. Kokichi surveyed the ceiling again, insulation packed against it. This looked like a basement, a very expensively remodeled one, but a basement nonetheless. So he was probably in a house, which means he might be in a neighborhood, maybe even his neighborhood or somewhere nearby. Was that too optimistic of him? He hadn’t seen Shuichi’s car when Kaito dropped him off, so even if he hid him that the suitcase he saw, how far could he have gone? Kokichi started feeling dizzy again, heavy with questions, working out possible scenarios. Shuichi could’ve, did he, would he…

Where was Shuichi anyway?

He heard the door to the right jiggle, the grating of a key digging into the lock, the click of the lock giving, the door handle jumping. 

It creaked open.

The first thing Kokichi noticed as Shuichi entered the room was that his left eye was obscured. It was neatly bandaged with a square of thick cotton held in place by an X of gauze tape, the edges of it curling over the bridge of his nose. He was dressed warmly in a thick navy sweater that protected him from the overwhelming chill. Socks padded lightly on the floor. He pushed the door shut behind him and twisted the lock.

“You’re awake.” His voice was mellow, unlike the agonized rasping Kokichi remembered hearing when they struggled. Shuichi took off his hat and unceremoniously threw it on the desk nearby. The brim skidded along the surface.

His legs folded under him as he gradually lowered himself down to a kneeling position beside him, and Kokichi was hit with a bizarre feeling of deja vu, uncanny resemblance to the dream he had days ago. Hands dipped under his head, fingers lifting up his skull and tentatively prodding on the bone. They hit a particularly sore spot - the place where he had collided with the wall before - and he flinched, shifting his head away as the ache spread. Shuichi’s one eye flickered, and fingers probing through his hair pressed harder.

“Ah, o-ow.” He shook his head, but the hands didn’t stop. 

The other boy looked on, expression deadpan. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

“Stop,” Kokichi whimpered. Shuichi tilted his head down, hair falling and framing his face, a look of incredulity. The harsh lighting seeped around him.

“What, does this hurt too much?” His voice was bitter. “You almost scratched my eye out, but this hurts too much for you?”

“You attacked me,” Kokichi responded quietly, like Shuichi needed to be reminded of this fact. The hands dropped his head - the back of his skull knocked against the hard floor - an agonizing pain shot through him, a hushed gasp falling from his mouth, twitching reflexively against the sting.

“People are going nuts over you.” Shuichi was looking somewhere else now, changing the subject, reverting back to his even, neutral tone. “Kaito’s all by himself now. It’s kind of funny.”

Through the ache, Kokichi briefly thought of Kaito walking around alone, knowing that he was the last one to see Kokichi alive and well. Everything happened in minutes after Kaito had left, and Kokichi was the second person this had happened to in their immediate friend group. It’d be difficult not to blame yourself after a certain point. Thinking about Kaito beating himself up over his friends’ disappearances was so heartbreaking. He shoved the thought from his head. If he considered it any longer than that, he would’ve cried out of sympathy.

Another person replaced Kaito in his thoughts.

“Kaede, where’s Kaede?” The question left him with little forethought, and Kokichi saw as the expression of the boy lingering above him morphed fantastically. Neutral to confusion to rage.

Shuichi’s hands slammed into the floor on either side of Kokichi’s head, and his head was suddenly right over his own, so close he could feel the warmth of his breath washing over him.

“ _Huh?_ What’s with that?”

Kokichi stared, frozen, startled by their closeness.

“Where’s Kaede, you say. Like you would be here if I knew where she was.”

He said nothing in response.

Some realization clicked. Shuichi’s strained tone abruptly relaxed. Gaze hollow. His lips lowered down to to Kokichi’s ear, and strands of hair tickled his cheek.

“Poor Kokichi. Doesn’t know anything. Doesn’t even realize why he’s here.”

“You’re insane.” The accusation came out of him hoarsely. The curtain of hair vanished from his side as Shuichi lifted himself back up, his left hand rummaging in his pants pocket. He no longer appeared to be angry, but the calm now on his face was somehow more alarming. From the side, Kokichi saw a small plastic box rising from fabric.

“That’s not very nice.” The case opened with a pop. Shuichi pulled out a single-edge razor blade, shining and clean. Kokichi could read the inscription printed neatly on the metal: STAINLESS STEEL, MADE IN JAPAN. Those words shadowed over him, edging closer to his skin, laser focused. “You should apologize to me.”

The request barely registered. “What?”

“Tell me you’re sorry.” Shuichi’s other hand curled around Kokichi’s right eye, thumb and forefinger pulling it open, exposing the veiny pink undersides. “For all the trouble you caused me. I’ve been so gracious to you, so it’s the least you could do.”

His nails pressed into the soft skin of his eyelids, and the razor hovered. The threat impressed on him now, clear and malicious, the blade glinting in white light. Possibly blinding in two ways. He was suddenly too aware of what kind of person he was dealing with. In a panic, he picked up meaningless details of the hand above him, double stacked gold bands on Shuichi’s ring finger, his glossy manicured nails, the creases of skin stretching over his knuckles.

There was a second or two of hesitation, and then he whispered out a shaking “sorry” while the boy above him bored a hole in him.

Shuichi didn’t look satisfied. The blade inched closer and Kokichi shrank back, eye twitching against the hand keeping it in place. Light rattling of the chain as his entire figure quaked. Air caught in his throat.

His voice hit a frenetic pitch, louder now.

“Don’t, don’t, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry I said it I’m sorry!_ ”

Gasping, panic-pain rising and tightening around his heart. The razor hovered dangerously.

But the hands finally distanced themselves, and Kokichi watched with shaking vision as the razor was returned to its plastic casing. _Click, pop._ It rested in Shuichi’s hand, and a wry smile warped on his lips as he closed his fingers around the case. Precious metal glinted dully on his finger, revealing light scratches from overuse. Kokichi was still light-headed as he watched, but he recognized it from somewhere, somplece.

“Those rings,” he breathed. Shuichi stopped his motions and looked at his hand, like he had forgotten he was wearing them, then glanced back to the smaller boy with no change in expression. All of a sudden, Kokichi remembered the red lake at the center of his parents’ room. The overwhelming smell. The faint trail leading away. The already stained knife.

A sob crackled in his chest, vision blurring as the corners of his eyes stung, a foreign agony stabbing into him. Shuichi ignored him, picking himself up, making a show of dusting off his pants. The gold was shining on his hand.

“Wh- _hyyyy?_ ” Kokichi brokenly cried, words slurring, hardly able to see anything through the film of water. Shuichi reducing to a blurry gray outline. “My parents didn’t do anything to you, why _them_?”

“How do you know what they did? You can’t even tell when you do something wrong.”

Kokichi couldn't have responded even if he wanted to. He just continued to weep, a wet cheek pressed on the floor. Through his tears, he could hear the door locking again as Shuichi left.

 

 

 

He fell in and out of sleep after, not knowing how much time had passed every time he woke up again, just closing his eyes and willing himself to go back to sleep again. He didn’t want to be conscious in this room, he didn’t want to be here, but it wasn’t like he could leave. Dreaming was the only real way to leave for the time being.

But eventually, his body got tired of sleeping and crying and hearing the metal jangle every time he startlingly woke up like he had had a nightmare, arms jolting in their restraints. He had to try to get up. It wouldn’t be easy when he couldn’t use his arms for support, but he had to _try._

He slowly rotated his body so his stomach was flush with the floor. It was hard not to flinch when the concrete was so much colder in the areas he hadn’t been laying on top of for hours. He shifted his knees so that his legs tucked under his hips, and then he brought his torso up as he pushed his shoulder down. By this point, he was already slightly sweating, and a sickly chill ran through him as he pushed his back against the wall as leverage, balancing himself while he got to his feet. His stance felt unsure and his knees were shaking, but this way he was able to see more of the room. He scanned his surroundings.

The marble counter top of the island was fully visible now, gleaming and smooth. There were four table vices attached to the edge furthest away from him, all lined up in a row. On the wall beyond the island was a large mounted TV flanked on both sides by expensive looking speakers. A plush leather couch was in front.

To his right: the door that led in and out. There were actually two tables here, one being the desk that he saw Shuichi toss his hat on before and the other farther away, too far for him to reach despite how long the chain was. He could see a black toolbox and a moderately sized glass tank teeming with vegetation sitting on its surface. Kokichi squinted at it, trying to make out more details, but he couldn’t see anything in the tank because of how much brush had been stuffed into it.

To his left: more sparse. He was considerably closer to this wall than he was to the other. A cot bed was shoved up against the far wall, legs attached to the floor with straps of metals and screws. With one end attached to the bed’s foot, another metal chain snaked on the mattress. He made his way over to the door, backing up and bending awkwardly so his hands could twist the knob. It turned out to be a bathroom, housing a toilet, a standing shower, a sink. No mirrors. The chain could extend far into this room, far enough for him to reach everything at least. There was running water here: something he found out by mouthing the handle of the sink and seeing water splash out of the faucet. He ran his lips under it for a bit, drinking, not realizing until then how thirsty he actually was.

This room was definitely an intricate long-term project. Kokichi swallowed. The lights were so vivid and white and glaring, and there was so much metal here. As he walked back, he could see a obtuse shadow of himself reflected in the black mirror of the TV, a ghost wobbling across the screen.

He rested for a bit. The chain could barely reach the desk, but he managed to snag one of the wheels on the desk chair and roll it over to him so he could sit down. He decided in a short while to travel on the chair instead, since it gave him better leverage to use his feet, and he rolled around the area the chain permitted him to explore, opening different cabinets and drawers. He found nothing he could use himself, just a overabundance of tools. Pliers and knifes, wiring, ropes, plastic bits and pieces everywhere. There were some things he couldn’t identify at all - it was probably for the best that he didn’t know what they did.

He still couldn’t see what was in the glass tank very clearly even when he got as close as he could. It was a mass of green and brown, loamy soil powdering the floor. It looked like a terrarium, but there wasn’t anything living in it.

After a short while of failing to identify any movement, he rolled over to the desk. There were three drawers built into the desk itself. He jiggled the handle cautiously, pulling it open.

First drawer had been surprisingly normal, household objects: chunky silver hair clips and bobby pins, still in their original packaging. A thin box of latex gloves. A smattering of calligraphy pens and creamy eggshell cardstock. Kokichi felt a profound feeling of disgust when he saw the last items, recognizing them immediately.

Second drawer was mostly medical supplies. A stack of thick cloths and bandages. Rolls of gauze. A small first aid kit next to a larger bottle of hydrogen peroxide. There was also a cylindrical canister of salt that rolled when he opened the drawer, wagging back and forth as he looked with interest.

Third drawer, the biggest one. Kokichi could hear the contents sliding around as he pulled it open.

Peeking inside briefly, it looked like a junk drawer at first. It was littered with different sizes of ziploc baggies, the type with the silver handle that slid across the top. There was also a larger shadow box that caught his attention, displaying delicately painted fake nails, backs glued onto strips of paper which pinned to the fabric-covered Styrofoam to keep them in place.

He put his knees on the seat of the chair, trying to lift himself higher for a better view. Each bag only had one item in it, and the white printed box on each one had been written on with looping, slanted letters. A silver cross necklace, labeled Angie. A square of navy blue fabric, labeled Tsumugi. A bigger bag, folded neatly in half, containing metal chopsticks with a weird brown residue flaking from the tips, labeled Himiko. His vision swirled. Anyone could tell the flaking brown was dried blood. He couldn’t imagine what those chopsticks had been used for, didn’t really want to. The entire bottom of the drawer was filled with bags on bags on bags, some with such scrawling writing that Kokichi couldn’t read it properly.

These were souvenirs. There were so many of them, most of them stained accessories or scraps of clothing or locks of hair. It was incomprehensible in both timing and concept. Shuichi was the same age as him, so how were there so many of these keepsakes tucked away? There was no way he had killed all these people and had gotten away with it by himself. Even the four he had saw on the news was pushing reasonable belief.

A realization: he looked back at the shadow box despite himself. He didn’t remember the remaining student’s name from the original news broadcast, just had the vague sense that he hadn’t read it yet. So the shadow box must be the that one’s. For the first time, he noticed the slivers of red and brown curling from around the nails that he couldn’t see from a distance, and he noticed - he noticed. The nails were real.

He haphazardly kicked the drawer closed. No longer in the mood for exploring, he returned to his original spot against the wall and brought his knees up, tucking his head between them. 

An urgency pounded in him. It was something he already knew, but he hadn’t accepted until now.

_You have to get out of here. You have to get out, or you’re going to die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over!! 3000!! words!! ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ This chapter almost gave me a heart attack lol
> 
> I also now have internet at my house (finally!) so I don't have to go to a coffee shop to update anymore. Updates may also be slowing down as I'll have less free time, but no worries about abandoning this fic, I'm ..... way too invested
> 
> Thank you everyone for your support so far!


	12. Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : gore. also Shuichi is pretty terrible in this chapter. haha

With no measure of time, time itself ceased to exist. There was no place alloted for it, and maybe the exclusion of a clock was a subtle but intentional move for a room purely made to torture someone. Kokichi couldn’t tell how long it had been since Shuichi had come, too confused as he traveled between faint awareness and the cotton-fuzz state of sleep. Being awake became a chore since he could only spend it thinking and waiting and thinking some more until sleep inevitably crept up on him again. Even real prisons weren’t this boring. Real prisons would at least let you use your hands, read books, go outside every once in a while. Kokichi was instead in a somehow crueler rendition of solitary confinement. Surrounded by things he could interact with, unable to do so in any meaningful way.

He was fairly sure that at least one day had passed. A full 24 hours had gone, maybe more, but probably not any less, judging by the cavern blossoming in the depths of his stomach. In a string of bad luck, he had been too upset to eat lunch on the day he was abducted, so he was already starving. The hunger came over him in waves. Sometimes it pulled at him, roaring ferociously until he chewed enough skin off of his lip to redirect the pain, and other times it dulled down to a pinching in his intestines. But it never fully left. All that was left in him now was acid and water. He kept passing out, weaving to and from consciousness.

So when he heard the door open, there was a part of him that jumped with excitement; he brightened at the prospect of food, despite everything else. He couldn’t see the door from his position on the ground, but he felt an odd sense of relief. Shuichi _had_ to bring food. He wanted Kokichi alive for now, even if it was just to kill him later - the other victims had stayed alive for a month, maybe more, before he finished them off - so he had to feed him, because Kokichi had to eat to survive. If he wanted Kokichi dead, he would’ve died easily during the scuffle at his house.

But he realized that it wasn’t Shuichi that entered the door. He could tell from the difference in this person’s gait, thudding, weighty steps approaching him. Shuichi didn’t walk with such a powerful presence - this person came in like their feet were the only announcement they needed.

His name was barked with alarm and he heard them coming towards him rapidly. Kokichi had no energy to be startled. He raised his head weakly, and the unmistakable bolt of lavender hair filled his vision.

“Kaito?” he warbled, muscles slacking as he spoke, refusing to move properly. There was a thump as Kaito got on his knees in front of him. His solid hands hovered around the boy’s frame, as someone would when they were hesitating to hold a baby or other fragile object.

Kaito was stammering, “Shit, Kokichi, what the hell happened to you, hold on,” and he angled his hands in different ways, slowly, figuring out how to touch him without hurting him. The action was confusing. Kokichi thought he wasn’t so beaten up that Kaito had to think about how to handle him for that long. He uselessly wiggled his bound arms behind him, chain rattling with urgency. The other man just stared at him, frozen by the clank of metal.

“Kaito, take this off of me,” Kokichi spoke again, but his voice faltered and the words disappeared. 

“You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding so much,” Kaito whispered, horrified. Kokichi looked down at his body and found it was covered in deep gashes. Seeing them made them all burn at once. He hadn’t noticed the blood seeping out of his wounds, haphazardly stitched back together with plastic thread in place of sutures. When did he forget that this happened? His hair swam in the blood, painting the ends in a morbid sort of dye. Breathing scraped at the inside of his chest. He couldn’t remember Shuichi coming back, ripping him open, sewing him back together again by pricking him over and over with thin silver needles, but he didn’t need to remember. He somehow knew.

“Kaito, Kaito,” Kokichi was wailing now, “Help me. Please, please, I’m gonna die.”

Kaito’s sturdy arms scooped him up and pressed him close into his warmth. Kokichi melted in the heat, not realizing that he had been cold until then. It was a different kind of chill compared to the room, a feeling that made his nerves sing instead of numbing them.

He started feeling heavy. Kaito’s voice was starting to fade out.

“Kokichi? Hey, Kokichi? Hey, hey -”

 

“ — _Hey!_ ”

Something hit his abdomen hard, and there was no longer breath in his lungs. He knocked his head on the floor as the air pushed out of him with a bursting cough, bile dislodging from his throat. That acidic taste of mucus was spreading on his tongue. He looked down at his body. No wounds. A dream again? His thoughts were disrupted as the sole of Shuichi’s shoe ground into his stomach, and Kokichi could feel his organs shifting with the pressure, sliding around as the heel pushed further into him.

“You were dreaming about something good, weren’t you? Calling for Kaito,” Shuichi said through his disgustingly fake affable tone, and his smile was wicked.

Kokichi rolled over and spit, bitter gunk falling from his mouth, leaving behind a trail of sour saliva that dangled from his bottom lip, still coughing. He knocked Shuichi’s foot away with his hand, pushing against his ankle. It wasn’t until Shuichi’s foot was fully removed from his person that he realized his arms were free now. The collar was still there, but the arm restraints were gone.

He struggled to sit up, and he rubbed at his wrists carefully in near disbelief, like he never expected to use his hands again.

“You can have those off as long as I’m in here with you.” Shuichi explained without being prompted. Kokichi noticed that he was holding up a white shopping bag. It drooped heavily at the bottom, the plastic stamped with blocky red thank yous, crinkling as it swayed.

“Hungry?” He almost sounded considerate as his hand disappeared into the bag’s depths. He pulled out a plastic wrapped roll of bread, lightly covered in sesame seeds. “I wanted to come back sooner, but, well. It’s been busy. Investigation’s full force now.”

He put the white bag on the island counter top, freeing his hands to pop the plastic around the bread which surrendered neatly between his slender fingers. The delicate smell of the pastry caught all of Kokichi’s senses, saliva pooling in his mouth, stomach growling as he tried to muffle the embarrassing vibrations with his arms. His teeth were clattering together.

Shuichi tore open the bread slowly, and the spongy substance pulled apart to reveal a thick yellow custard at the center, oozing and sweet. “It’s been, what, three days? I bet you’re starving.”

The words were drawn out, teasing, as if he didn’t have everything overwhelmingly stacked in his favor. Half-lidded eyes fluttering, smile growing wider, cheekbones lifting in amusement. Kokichi nodded mutely. It felt too dangerous to resist much. His brain wanted to find an event to justify that undeserved subservience, but there were too many for it to pick one right away. It eventually settled on the pile of trophies from his murders resting in the bottom most drawer of his desk. That’s it. That’s why you have to behave.

“Before you eat,” Shuichi licked some excess filling that leaked onto his thumb, “I want something from you.”

He set the bread down on the marble countertop of the island, and his hand lowered into the bag again, lazily taking everything out. He was making a show of it again, dragging out the action as much as possible. A few more pastries with those crinkling, stiff plastic cases, then a tall bottle of iced tea, sheer condensation glistening with the amber liquid.

Finally, a Tupperware-like plastic container, holes punched manically into the black lid, crawling with a dozen of snails.

Shuichi opened this box first, gently picking one up after shimmying it back and forth to dislodge it, and replaced the lid. The snail was starting to contort as it retreated back to its shell. The grayed waveforms of its foot shimmered with slime as Shuichi stuck it to the back of his left hand, and it glued itself to him until its head returned to peek out. It sluggishly made its way across the pale surface. A slug swinging its acorn home as it crawled.

“Name this one,” Shuichi said, and Kokichi found his tender expression entirely unpleasant, staring at this mollusk with care when all he had ever gotten from Shuichi were maliciously twisting gazes and blank stares. He forgot to answer for a second, allowing that resentment to coat his thoughts, but he refocused quickly. He wanted whatever it was to be over with fast, hunger rioting in his body.

“What kind of name?” Kokichi eventually asked. Even as he spoke, Shuichi didn’t spare him a glance. All of his attention focused on that fucking snail.

“A human name. Gender doesn’t matter.”

Kokichi tried to think of something up, some name that had no significance to him. It felt mean to give a snail the name of someone he had a personal connection with. It seemed mean to give any pest a human name, period, something to be done only out of petty revenge. Like naming a cockroach after your ex before you squashed it and flushed it away.

Tongue nervously licking behind his teeth, he finally said, “Haruto.”

“Were you trying to avoid names of people you know?” Shuichi laughed, hitting right on target. The snail was making its way up the first knuckle of his middle finger, eye stalks swaying. “I think a lot of humans are like snails in a way. Pulling back into themselves, thinking it’ll protect them. Not knowing how easy it’d be for something to worm inside and kill them.”

Kokichi didn’t respond, bewildered by the random speech. He didn’t fully understand what Shuichi was saying. An increasingly common occurrence. The snail made its way past his second knuckle now, and that’s when Shuichi sat down, presented the animal to him on an outstretched finger, and said something completely infeasible. 

“Eat him.”

Kokichi’s eyes almost crossed as he focused in on the snail, glossy with its gelled membrane, crawling on the hand in front of him.

The line he had for himself was pushed so much farther away than before. If he didn’t know what he knew about Shuichi, he would’ve slapped it out of his hand and screamed at him for even considering it. Maybe Shuichi would’ve countered with some nonsensical point about other countries eating snails, and Kokichi would have to state the obvious that those were cooked, no one just picked up a snail from the ground and chewed it straight. He would’ve bickered with him despite knowing that Shuichi was trying to get a rise out of him. But things were different now. Whatever the specifics, Kokichi knew that Shuichi was capable of exceptional violence. He wasn’t a murderer more than a tormentor - few people even among murderers went for body parts like fingernails or eardrums.

He would do it. Just to survive. He would absolutely do it.

But he wasn’t sure he _could_ do it, even if he tried. The thought of crunching through the brittle shell and feeling the guts swish into his mouth was enough to make him queasy. There wasn’t anything in him to throw up, but his body would try anyway. Would throwing it up make Shuichi angry? Would it be enough if he tried?

His hand wobbled as Kokichi took hold of the snail by the shell. He could see it shaking along with his fingers, his insides squeezing in apprehension. The stalks of its eyes started shrinking back. Slick and sheen. Just toss it in. Swallow it whole if you have to. He shut his eyes and his lips weakly parted -

Shuichi grabbed his wrist and wrenched it away from him, throwing his entire body off balance. Kokichi’s hands stumbled, and by impulse his fingers clamped down and shattered the shell, innards gushing outward. He opened his eyes frantically. The slime dripped down his hand, dangerously close to where Shuichi was holding him. Shuichi himself had a look of disbelief, eyebrows turned up, an incredulous smile.

“Are you serious? You almost did it. You were really going to do it just now.” Shuichi sounded astonished. Kokichi was still trembling, the other’s reaction throwing him off guard.

“Y-you,” Kokichi began, but Shuichi interrupted him.

“You can’t eat snails raw. They can have parasites in them. It’ll make you really sick, like going into a coma level of sick.” There was a weird edge to his words, like he found the situation hysterical. “Oh my god, you were really going to do it? Just because I told you to? I thought you were going to say no.”

‘Of course I was going to do it,’ Kokichi thought furiously, ‘Everything you’ve done makes me think you’ll kill me if I say no.’

But the blood shamefully rushed to his cheeks in spite of his indignant thoughts. Shuichi released him, and Kokichi awkwardly wiped the guts on the floor next to him, not knowing what else to do about it.

“The food,” Kokichi said softly, staring at the smear of gunk he left behind. 

He heard Shuichi stand up, and there was a rustling noise before he came back down. The bread looked like the same kind he had torn in half before, a fresh one still in the bag. He took it from him, ripping the adhesive from the plastic and biting into it hungrily. The sesame seeds scattered on the floor. Red bean paste in the center. The flavor was mildly sweet. It tasted good.

“Don’t choke,” Shuichi was saying, but Kokichi had already inhaled about two thirds of it by that point. With the taste hitting his tongue, the hunger crashed into him again with full force, and he couldn’t stop himself. It was gone in a near instant, and he was already licking the residual glaze from his fingers, sucking at the excess sugar.

Shuichi watched him, deep in thought, face never betraying what kind of thoughts he was having. He tossed him the bottle of tea along with another pastry, and then he took the container with the rest of the snails to the glass tank.

Kokichi didn’t watch him go. Instead, he ate.

 

 

 

He dared to raise a question after the food had been devoured, resting comfortably in his stomach. Shuichi had done whatever he did with the glass tank and chucked the Tupperware away. Now he was leaning back on the swivel chair by his desk, watching the news on his phone, boredly pushing an elbow into the arm rest, while Kokichi sat up with his back against the brick wall. The chain swayed.

“What are you planning on doing?” The question was so vague that it was unanswerable without the current context. Shuichi brought his head up, a small red mark where his fingers pressed into his cheek. He gave a small frown.

“About what?”

“About me.” Kokichi found his voice thinning in volume. He could feel the increase in his heart rate without taking his pulse. Shuichi put his phone down, folding his hands as he tilted his head thoughtfully. Fingers flexed, and the joints cracked as he stretched them.

“You’re asking if I’m going to kill you,” Shuichi said. The gauze tape was peeling from his face slightly, and he idly pressed it back against into place as his visible eye darted around. “I don’t really know yet.”

“You don’t know?” Kokichi repeated, an anxious relief flowing through him at the response. He wasn’t sure what it meant exactly, but it was implying that he could live, right? That meant hope of rescue, hope of escape.

“I don’t know,” Shuichi admitted, “It all depends on your stalker now, I guess.”

Kokichi felt his blood run cold.

“My stalker?” He said emptily, and his muscles were stiffening again. “I, ah, I thought you were…”

His voice trailed away, seeing the sneer forming on Shuichi’s face. Shuichi was getting up, an action that was consistently ominous in a room that was simultaneously too big and too small, approaching him. Kokichi backed up slightly, but his legs always felt weak and frozen under that gaze.

Shuichi crouched down.

“You thought it was me?” This voice was dangerously devoid of emotion. Kokichi suddenly regretted opening his mouth.

“Sorry, I was wrong, sorry,” the smaller boy mumbled rapidly, hoping to appease his captor. As soon as he apologized, he remembered the razor again, poised over his eye, unable to blink.

It was silent for a little bit. There was a light sigh, and then Shuichi was sitting next to him once again, phone clattering on the floor beside his leg.

“I figured out the message, you know,” Shuichi said, tucking dark bangs behind his ear. “It was a simple gimmick. You put the notes in reverse order, and then take the first letter from every line. But the message is something you can figure out without the missing notes.”

“Missing notes?”

“Yeah. You don’t have number ten or six. Because six was the first one you got that vanished, and I got a note months ago that was probably meant to be ten.” Shuichi was smiling slyly, eyes narrowing as Kokichi’s widened spectacularly. “’ _I know who you are._ ’”

Kokichi shouldn’t be surprised with the mountain of secrets that the detective had been keeping from him, and at the same time, he couldn’t register what he had heard. The idea that Shuichi had been involved in this prior to Kokichi knowing about his existence, kept quiet when Kaede told him about it. Kaede had talked about how difficult it was to get Shuichi away from work, but as Kokichi was dealing with the situation, Shuichi became readily more and more available. Keeping an eye on things, collecting things for himself. Shuichi always knew.

Eyes like a lighthouse peering over the dark sea. All seeing, all knowing. He had always _known._

“I didn’t do anything, but I started worrying. I thought for sure they were going to go to the police, and my dad was going to burst through my door and kill me himself. I was really prepared to die for a while.” Shuichi leaned in as he spoke, but Kokichi was too fixated on processing what he was saying to notice. “Then they started sending the notes to you, and they were copying me, but it was a little flattering. I thought they were going to give me a nice show to watch. It was fun to see for a bit.”

Hands cupped around Kokichi’s jawline, and their faces were suddenly so close, like they had been the very first day Kokichi had spent in this prison. Lips twitching. He couldn’t look away. The hands went up and tangled into his hair, sending a tingling warmth across his skin as the fingers brushed against his scalp.

“Sh-Shuichi?” Kokichi whispered. He could see every freckle of yellow in his eyes, flowing around his pupil like robes.

Shuichi gripped his hair, and Kokichi winced as the other leaned in further. A weird tremor cascaded through his nervous system as he felt Shuichi’s breath hot on his ear.

“But you know,” the smooth voice began to rasp, hold on Kokichi tightening, not acknowledging the resulting whine of pain, “ _You know_ , I can’t stand when people touch my things. And Kaede’s mine. No one is allowed to touch her. So if it turns out that _your_ stalker took her, and if it turned out they’ve touched even a single hair on her head, I’m going to destroy them without a second thought.”

“Shuichi, that hurts,” Kokichi mumbled, trapped between the wall behind him, Shuichi’s shoulder pressing on his front.

“I’m going to drive nails into their knees so they can’t move, and I’ll sew their eyes open so they can’t look away, and I’ll kill you right in front of them.”

Kokichi gripped onto Shuichi’s arm, trying to push him away as terror rose in his heart, being wholly unable to do so. Shuichi’s breath was fluttering erratically, trembling with excitement, shaking with rage. Alarms were ringing loud in Kokichi’s head: danger, danger, danger!

“I’ll do what they wanted to do to you first, and if they won’t tell me, I’ll just do everything. Pin you down, dissect you slowly, and I’ll feel inside of you, all warm and sticky. Make you say that you love it, you hate it, it hurts and it feels good. And you’ll say all of it because you’ll hope it’ll let you die faster. After a while, that’s what they all want.”

“Stop, stop, let me go,” he gasped, shoving harder, but Shuichi stayed beside him, talking madly. Shuichi’s body felt hot, and Kokichi could see the back of his exposed neck flushing a deep pink.

“You’ll die gargling on your own blood. And after you die, I’ll drain all of the fluids from their body. I’ll send them right after you, so they’ll know. Everyone will know, but especially them. _Nobody touches what’s mine._ ”

 

_brr brr brr brr brr brr_

 

The phone started vibrating loudly, and the detective seemed to finally snap out of his stupor. Kokichi succeeded in shoving him away this time, his own breaths shallow as his heart picked up pace in panic. His skin itched with goosebumps as he scrambled away.

The phone screen flashed.

**Incoming Call:**

Kaede Akamatsu

“Oh,” Shuichi said, and he focused back to reality. 


	13. My

“Don’t go.”

Kokichi felt the other pause behind him when he spoke, one hand closed around Kokichi’s wrists, the other carrying the metal cuffs. When the call had finished, Shuichi had gone to his desk and fished them out from the top drawer, those thick, steel restraints that had clasped around his forearms before. With them followed a small key ring, a gentle ringing as the mass of keys collided with one another from the motion.

There wasn’t a point in resisting. Kokichi had obediently turned around when he was asked, and his chest pressed uncomfortably against the brick wall while his arms were wrenched back.

The pause lasted for only a few seconds, and there was no response to what he had said. Kokichi heard him moving again, a metallic click sounding as the cuffs clamped down on him, followed by the abrasive noise of the lock sliding into place. He could feel the slight vibrations of Shuichi’s movements through them, the way the key caught in the keyhole and how it became dislodged after it was jimmied in place. The jangle of the keyring was muffled as it slipped inside Shuichi’s pocket.

“Isn’t this too easy? Right? It has to be some kind of trap,” Kokichi babbled as the pressure on his back released, and he turned to see Shuichi ignoring him some more, gathering the trash that was strewn about the room. Wrappers and bottles were placed inside the generic plastic bag he had brought in earlier, full of food, now bulging outward from its lightweight companions. He could see the opaque black lid of the Tupperware container through the cheap, thin material. 

Shuichi’s hand reached for his face, fingertips slipping under the gauze padding his left eye. It slowly started lifting under the force of Shuichi’s fingers. The hollow noise of the gauze tape stretching as it peeled off his skin echoed in the stone room. The square of cotton relented, releasing its hold, and Shuichi crumpled it and dropped the bandage into the trash bag.

He was headed towards the door. Kokichi raised his voice, “Shuichi, please!”

He stopped moving, and the light swish of his bangs swaying to the side was the only indication that he was listening now. His head was tilted in Kokichi’s direction, just barely.

“Please. I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Stay here.” The words were spilling out of him clumsily, and Kokichi already knew how desperately futile they were to say. He didn’t even know what he was trying to accomplish. He was just absently biding his time so that he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the inevitable conclusion that the conversation presented to him.

Shuichi turned, and his eyes regarded his prisoner coolly. His left eye was more hooded than his right one, and the sclera burned an angry bloodshot red, but both of them moved easily in unison.

“You don’t want me to stay,” he said, “You just don’t want to die.”

And he was correct. Kokichi didn’t want him to leave, because Shuichi meeting the stalker meant that his life was over. As long as he remained as a bargaining chip, he could live - as soon as they met, as soon as they came to a conclusion on what to do about him, his fate would be sealed.

Shuichi made his way to the door, and his hand rested gently on the handle. 

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Shuichi,” Kokichi called out, but the other boy had already left.

 

 

 

That overbearing silence settled on him again, and Kokichi steeped in it semi-willingly. It gave him time to sort through the confusing swarm of questions in him. His head was beginning to hurt, a combination of the stress beating into his head and the inability to comprehend his situation. He hadn’t been prepared for this - for any of it - everything was always turning baffling and weird at the blink of an eye. Neither of the people he was at the mercy of said things that made any sense. Shuichi was a wild card. The only consistent behavior he showed was how he always redirected blame, trying to guilt Kokichi for Kaede’s disappearance and his parents’ murders. Kokichi wasn’t so susceptible that he would fall for that manipulative talk. Maybe Shuichi genuinely believed it, maybe he was just messing with him.

But at least Shuichi had a clear objective. He made it no secret that he did everything because Kaede was taken. What the stalker was doing was harder to wrap his mind around.

Why was Kokichi the target? Why were the notes given over such a long period of time? Why had they prolonged everything, when taking him could’ve been quicker? Why did they take Kaede? They had technically answered all those questions, but they still buzzed in his head, unable to be fully understood. He found himself growing dizzy again.

His clothed shoulder swiped across his cheek as he wiped some stray tears away. He had to remind himself that it didn’t matter. These people, people like Shuichi and his stalker, they weren’t normal. They were psychotic in every sense of the word. Like an unpredictable natural disaster, an earthquake no one could warn about, a hurricane that left everything behind in ruins. Why they were doing the things they did didn’t matter in the long run.

What mattered was how to get out.

If the time frame Shuichi gave him was trustworthy, Kokichi had been here for around four or five days. Just under a week. That was barely any time to think of an escape plan, especially when he was in an unfamiliar area. _Especially_ when the person who had violently kidnapped him was someone he knew, the same person who readily admitted to murdering his parents and wearing their wedding rings on his finger, gloating over their deaths. He had been too busy trying to cope with that alongside the growing pit of hunger, and he spent time going back and forth from bursting into tears and feeling oddly hollow.

Right now, he had to focus. He was running out of options. He had to start thinking.

How would someone escape this kind of situation? There was no way he would be able to pick the locks on his restraints, so he would have to get the keys somehow. Without his hands, Kokichi wasn’t much of a threat, and his legs weren’t going to be as helpful or accurate. The best option would be to strike after Shuichi frees his arms.

Maybe a weapon? He could grab a knife from one of the cabinets nearby, tuck it somewhere on his person, and when Shuichi has his back turned after unlocking his arms, he could … stab him? Could he actually do that? Even in this situation, the idea of swinging a knife into someone, unprovoked in the moment, made him feel ill. Imagining the smell of blood again. It made him sick. It _was_ sick. But he might not have a choice.

Even then. All the knives that Shuichi stored in this room were large enough that there would be a good risk of it being found before Kokichi could use it. Shuichi unlocking the cuffs meant that he would see around his body’s circumference before Kokichi had his arms free, so if he caught him before he had the opportunity, then -

(I’ll kill you. Dissect you slowly.)

\- think smaller. There were a few loose screwdrivers, petite things, meant for detailed and intricate work. It would be easier to hide something like that under his clothing. 

But since they were small and mostly blunt, using them meant that Kokichi would have to hit a vital spot right away. Somewhere like the neck or maybe the eye again. Nausea rolled through him at the thought of the screwdriver plunging into Shuichi’s throat, imagining an almost farcical show of blood spurting out from his arteries. He wondered what Shuichi’s expression would look like and could only imagine static in place of his face.

There would only be one chance for something like that. If he missed and hit someplace else, Kokichi’s chance would be gone. Actually - even if he was accurate and deadly, how long would it take for Shuichi to bleed out? Could he still fight back? There wouldn’t be anywhere for Kokichi to run with the chain attached to him, and he was almost positive that Shuichi would try to kill him as soon as he realized he was about to die.

(Are you okay? You can stay behind me.)

Was _not_ killing him an option? Incapacitating him would take more time. If their previous struggle was any indication, Shuichi could easily overpower him, and Kokichi would need time to escape as well before he could give chase. His mind flashed to the ring of keys Shuichi placed into his pocket before he left. 

The chain.

Maybe he could use that. He would have to work quickly as Shuichi was walking away from him, but if he was standing, the chain would be long enough to loop around his neck. He could choke him until he fell unconscious. A weird sort of retribution. Then Kokichi could search him for the keys, unlock himself, run away with time to spare.

If Shuichi didn’t have the keys on his person or in a reachable place when he did that, though, he was screwed. In that case, it would just be a matter of waiting for Shuichi to wake up.

What would happen to him if he tried and failed? The thought was paralyzing. He remembered how one of the victims had their hands crudely severed from their body when they were found. His heart danced in his rib cage. Every muscle in his body suddenly felt unsure of themselves.

But he was going to die soon, so he had to prepare.

(Ko-ki-chi. What did you do?)

Did he know for sure? He was really going to die? Was Shuichi really going to kill him? 

Maybe he had misunderstood. Maybe he was just worrying over nothing, and Shuichi would let him go when the stalker gave him what he wanted.

That would be nice. 

He knew it would never happen.

 

 

 

The person calling from Kaede’s phone had, of course, not been Kaede herself.

Shuichi had pressed a single finger to his lips, a silent order. His expression had dropped from that heated, frenzied smile into his normal aloof demeanor, and it happened startlingly fast. If Kokichi blinked at the right second, he was sure he would’ve missed the transition. Shuichi had then dragged his finger across the phone. The screen glowed a vivid, saturated green as the call was answered. It was placed on speaker.

Kokichi knew it was unlikely, but he still held onto a small fragment of hope that it would’ve been her. He wanted her soprano voice to dance out of the receiver with apologies about how she had run away, or she had gotten lost for an absurd amount of time, or anything else. He didn’t care about the explanation itself, he just wanted it to be Kaede.

But the voice that played was garbled, the same kind of voice Kokichi remembered from the tape recording. The uneven pitch and the dual tones made it difficult to distinguish any trait of the person it belonged to. He couldn’t even figure out what gender this person was.

Raucous and thick, the voice spoke.

“Shuichi. You took him, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Shuichi responded with no hesitation.

“You’re so impatient. You didn’t even get rid of his parents’ bodies.”

Kokichi flinched, and Shuichi’s eye flickered towards him warily.

“With the time I had, there was no point. The police would’ve found them immediately anyway.”

“I guess you’re right,” the voice hummed in agreement.

If the words hadn’t been what they were, Kokichi could’ve convinced himself that the two were talking about the weather. Shuichi had been so angry just moments before, Kokichi was positive that was the case with the way he had pushed him into the wall and whispered those grotesque descriptions into his ear, so hearing him talk calmly to the object of his rage felt somehow foreboding. Why was he being cordial?

Shuichi’s hair had untucked from his ear, and it fell over his face, obscuring his expression with the exception of his lips, which barely moved when he was talking.

“Do you have Kaede?”

The million dollar question. Kokichi unknowingly held his breath.

“You don’t have to ask. You already know.”

There was a fleeting lull in the conversation as neither spoke, and then the voice began again. 

“She’s safe. I’ve been feeding and watering her everyday.”

“Give her back to me.”

“… Okay.”

The ease which the stalker agreed to the demand surprised them both. Kokichi saw Shuichi’s mouth open, heard the shocked inhale at the unexpected response. Kokichi felt some relief followed by the inevitable pang of his typical paranoia. After everything, this person hadn’t proven that they could be trusted.

The voice continued, “I didn’t plan on taking her. I saw her running and… something just came over me.”

Shuichi’s body tensed, and his hand dug into the side of his leg. But he remained silent despite his obvious anger, allowing the voice to speak.

“It’s been hard. She kept getting in my way. You know how it is. But now that everything is messed up, it doesn’t matter.”

A strange inquiry.

“Are you mad at me, Shuichi?”

“Ah, I wonder,” the boy responded, and the pink of his tongue peeked from between grinding teeth.

“We’re on the same side, you and I.”

“We aren’t. I don’t trust you.”

“But I can show you. Now that you have Kokichi, there’s no point in keeping this up.”

Shuichi shifted.

“You’re giving in so easily.”

“It’s not that.” The voice trailed off, deliberating their next words. “There’s really no point. He was meant to be an offering.”

There was no framework for the time passing, but Kokichi could still feel it slow down to a crawl. Violet eyes widened, and in concurrence, Shuichi glanced towards him again, face clearly betraying his confusion. The smaller boy was opening his mouth, a puling exclamation rising in him, but Shuichi’s free hand was suddenly covering it and preventing him from speaking.

“What?”

“I thought you wouldn’t be willing to share someone you already picked, so I picked someone else for us. I didn’t think it would be so hard…”

Humidity washed over his nose as Kokichi breathed into the hand silencing him.

“ _Us?_ I don’t understand.” Shuichi’s own voice was rough from how much it was being subdued. The phone was crackling.

“He’s a gift. I wanted to unwrap him together.”

“Mmpfh - !!” Kokichi felt the hand press harder into his face, and he let out a muffled cry. His own hands gripped at Shuichi’s wrist. He could feel his arm quivering under his palms, and Kokichi realized that Shuichi was shaking.

“You know the message I was trying to send with the notes, right?”

A viperous glaze over Shuichi’s visible eye, the detective exhaled softly.

(i know. my heart.) 

(can you feel it? only i. my time. i know. nothing will keep us apart. god is looking.)

He licked his lips slowly, deliberately.

(for he has chosen _you_. oh. remember.) 

(your friends. once they’re gone. ultimately…)

“I’m coming for you.” Shuichi breathed. 

“Please meet me.” 

The gravelly voice somehow sounded warm through the shrill voice changer. 

“I’m a big fan.”

The screen filled with black as the call ended. The hand swiped off of Kokichi’s face, and Shuichi rigidly walked away, the phone left on the island countertop. There was a vibration again. The screen lit up.

**Kaede Akamatsu has shared her location with you.**

Kokichi leaned heavily back on the wall, weak legs threatening to give out under him at the smallest amount of pressure. He couldn’t stop his entire frame from shaking. A gift. The phrase left him dazed, that pins and needles sensation violating his pallid, sweating skin. Hysteria was knocking at the door. Everything was numb and weightless, and those bright lights were ethereal, dousing his vision in white.

Without him noticing, Shuichi had gotten the restraints again, dangling from delicate fingers.

“Turn,” he commanded. Kokichi did. As he felt the roughness of brick scratching his cheek, as he felt that warm hand engulf his wrists, he had pleaded shakily.

“Don’t go.”


	14. Loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : assault, drug mentions, mouth injuries

A short while after - or was it actually short? Kokichi’s perception of time was wrecked since he came down here - he started hearing footsteps.

The noise was dampened by the surrounding walls, thick and most likely meant to block out most of the sound, but in the quiet, it was unmistakable: he heard someone walking down the stairs, a constant beat of heels on the reinforced wood framework. The silence split apart as the sound drained in like a wave. Advancing. _Thump thump._

He heard that overly familiar grind and click again, the lock disengaging, and he expectantly watched the door. But the door only swung open a few inches at first, anticlimactic and slow. Kokichi was angling his head up to get a better view through the perceivable gap when he heard something else: someone was moving right past the door, feet tapping anxiously, starchy-sounding fabrics rustling with the occasional shadow veering over the sliver of light.

Seconds passed. A knee covered in dark pants nudged the door open, and it swung open as far as its hinges would let it.

As soon as Shuichi entered, Kokichi understood why there had been that peculiar lapse of time between the door unlocking and Shuichi finally coming in. The detective staggered, expression doused in exhaustion, legs swinging slowly. His foot landed solidly on the door behind him and kicked it closed; the wooden frame rattled powerfully as it settled, latch bolt popping into its place. Citrine stones for eyes, one still lost in that maze of blood, bounced steadily along the perimeter of the room.

He was carrying Kaede in his arms.

Or - it was probably Kaede, for all intents and purposes, but Kokichi couldn’t really see her face. The body seemed thinner than he remembered Kaede being. Hadn’t she gone missing only a few days before he had? He went without food with three days and he looked better than her, although it was difficult to prove that point to himself when there were no mirrors in this place. All Kokichi had for self-reference was the floating, blotchy outline of himself in the darkened TV screen. He at least didn’t feel as terrible as this person looked. She looked like Shuichi had pulled her from a survival show, caught her in the middle of the woods trying to forage for insects.

The most distinctive trait: the matted daffodil hair. It swayed in a single knotted mass about her head as she hung limply from Shuichi’s arms like an old pillow. The remaining plush fat of her stomach caved into her hips, the pads of her feet gray with dirt, arms careening down like a human wind chime.

Kaede - this person - was she dead? She _looked_ dead.

Shuichi didn’t bother to greet him, instead walking towards the bed that was pushed onto the wall, gently setting her down on the barren mattress. The face was definitely Kaede’s. Kokichi could see the feeble rise and fall of her chest as she laid on her back. Not dead. Alive. _Breathing._ That was good, right? It wasn’t until he felt his shoulders start softening that he realized his body had tensed hard; he made the rest of his body follow suit, systematically loosening his muscles one by one. Jaw unclenching, he let himself slouch forward more to release the pressure on his back. It felt strange to relax when his arms couldn’t stretch out at all, but there was a certain relief in it.

The detective was moving Kaede onto her side. She rotated languidly. He grabbed hold of her, thin fingers around a thinning wrist.

“Is she okay?” Kokichi asked. He didn’t receive an answer. Shuichi was absorbed in lifting the chain that snaked portentously around the legs of the cot up to her arm ( _jangle jangle click._ ) Keys were produced as he shuffled through them, movements listless, locking the cuff closed around her wrist. In the state she was in, it hardly seemed necessary, but it didn’t look like Shuichi was contemplating anything he was doing. The way he moved robotically made it look like he was doing something routine. He may as well have been driving to work or brushing his teeth.

“Is she okay?” Kokichi prompted again, his voice louder this time, and Shuichi glanced at him once before his mouth flattened into a firm line.

“Yes,” he said, but Kokichi remained unconvinced. He numbly watched as Shuichi went back to the door, dipping in and out to carry in a thick blue blanket. The door was closed more gently this time, the slab of wood landing into the jamb almost inaudibly. He pulled the blanket at the corners, letting it unravel in his hands, and the fleecy square waved open, spreading out neatly over the sleeping figure. It missed her toes, pale parts peeking up from the edge, and Shuichi tugged it over her feet as he tucked her in.

So she wasn’t dead, but…

“Why does she… look so bad?” Kokichi’s second question, spoken while he overlooked the curves outlining the blanket.

“A lot of sedatives. Something prescription. It’s for insomnia, very beginner’s mistake to give someone this much.” The explanation came in broken segments, like Shuichi was losing his train of thought while speaking. He was just standing by the bed now, staring down at Kaede, her breaths uneven and rough. What Shuichi was describing sounded like an overdose in the most basic sense. Kokichi didn’t need any extra information to know it wasn’t okay.

“Don’t people normally die from something like that?”

“Yeah,” Shuichi said, eyes flickering in thought, “It slows your body down, so it can stop people from breathing sometimes.”

“Why did you - you need to take her to a hospital.” It was astonishing to him that Shuichi had thought to bring her here at all. She was sick, and he had brought her into the cold and chained her down, unfathomable treatment for someone he claimed to like. Shuichi said nothing this time, leaning down over Kaede’s body, lights shifting on the gloomy crown of his head. Hands were brushing the butter blond hair from Kaede’s forehead. Her cheeks were soft, but in the way that ash or a particularly realistic doll would look. Only human-like.

Kokichi kept watching Shuichi stare down at her, and he hated his blank expression, no hint of sympathy for this person sleeping cold and uncomfortable. He was a mortician, and she was a body he pulled from one of his cold chambers. A slab of meat packaged in blue cloth, nicely refrigerated in his strange torture-basement-wherever. It wouldn’t be a surprise if there was a meat hook hiding somewhere in the ceiling that he could hang her from.

“She looks really sick,” Kokichi pressed again, emphasizing the urgency in his voice, “She has to see someone.”

Shuichi didn’t move. His body was rigid enough to be mistaken for a statue.

“Hello?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? You have to. She might seriously die.”

“It’s okay.” Shuichi’s head tipped forward, hair curtaining his face. “She’ll be okay.”

Something twisted in Kokichi when Shuichi said that - it was a feeling of profound dissatisfaction, but that wasn’t the only thing there. There was confusion, and fear, and most prominently, rage: a bitter cocktail that boiled in his stomach, bubbles foaming up. He was irritated with the back and forth, Shuichi flitting like a hologram between personalities. A contradiction in human form. Shuichi said he went through everything because Kaede was missing. He hurled violence at him, kidnapped him messily, _he killed his parents_ , left their bodies out to rot in some corner, and now he wasn’t even going to be consistent? He would let her die?

A near-scream purged from Kokichi’s throat: “ _Why can’t you do something that makes sense for once?_ ”

It came out more high-pitched and whining than he wanted it to, but it did its job. Shuichi lifted his head, peering through his bangs, fully at attention.

“You can’t let her die,” Kokichi yelled again. The volume made his voice scratchy. A pronounced wheeze followed the end of his sentence as he swallowed to soothe the itch.

“She won’t,” Shuichi said, “She’ll live.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I do.”

“You _don’t_!”

“I’m not in the mood to argue with you.”

“Not in the mood? You said it would be my fault she died,” Kokichi muttered hotly, “What a joke.”

Shuichi shifted. He took two steps towards the boy on the floor, and in a blur of motion, he grabbed the chain and yanked it hard - the collar jerked forward, and Kokichi barely avoided falling on his face as he followed its momentum, crashing into the floor shoulder-first as his arms jumped in their restraints. The clang of chain vibrated loudly above his head. He felt his lungs throb in pain after they rattled into his ribcage. A foot stomped into his upper back, crushing his sternum flat against the concrete - but Kokichi bit back the instinctive gasp that threatened to burst in his chest in some kind of useless rebellion.

“It’s been like a week. Don’t you understand your position by now?”

Kokichi let out a shaking breath, remnants of the air that tried to push its way out of him earlier. His chest hurt. He was still seething, glaring angrily at the floor, unable to bend his head around enough to make eye contact. Helplessness pulsated in him. He didn’t want to give in, didn’t want to acknowledge that he couldn’t do anything. He was _mad_. Why did he have to take everything that happened to him? He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. He truly hadn’t done _anything._

“You have to take her to a doctor. She has to see someone.” The edges of the sentence broke as Shuichi’s heel burrowed deeper into him, muscles wedging onto his spine.

“You just keep talking… you want me to tell everyone about what a great friend you were when they dig up what’s left of your body in some dirt pile somewhere? Is that it?” Shuichi’s voice lowered to a purr, aching and heavy, foot grinding harder in search of a reaction. Kokichi chewed on the skin past his lip, keeping his sounds in. “Kokichi was _such_ a good boy. He really stood up to me. Too bad, his pretty face is all decaying. No open casket funeral for him.”

“You’re a hypocrite. You said, you wanted Kaede, and she’ll die because you’re t —” Kokichi’s words caught in his throat as the chain was pulled again, upwards this time, the ring of metal hitting the underside of his jaw, pressing into the protrusion in his neck — he choked as the foot lifted off his back, collar hauling him up to his knees, then his feet. Shuichi’s fingers hooked under the metal now, wrapping around the thick band, pulling him forward until their noses were almost touching.

“You have no idea what I want,” Shuichi whispered, “Kaede won’t die. She won’t die until I kill her. Her life belongs to me.”

“No,” Kokichi scraped out. Shuichi angled the collar higher, pulling it up heavily, Kokichi leaning on tiptoes. The fingers pushed in more, curling around the collar further — Kokichi finally gasped, patches of air struggling down his trachea — he thought he could smell alcohol on the other’s breath as he inhaled.

“Oh, that reminds me. I’ll tell you something nice. Your stalker. I know them. They’re an old friend of mine. You’re,” Shuichi loosened his grip a little, allowing oxygen to rush into his captive again with another gasp, “ _My_ present. Sorry I’m late, thank you for your hospitality kind of thing. Isn’t that sweet? Aren’t they the best?”

Kokichi shook his head, less as a response, more as an instinctual reaction to get away. His own nails dug into the meat of his hand. He wondered if Shuichi had these episodes often, launching into violent spells and talking madly. Any desire for disobedience was suddenly a second thought. Kokichi didn’t really know what would happen if Shuichi was allowed to go through one of these phases uninterrupted.

“They picked you out — they thought you were my type. I always like the timid ones, they cry a lot more right away, but, but you’re a little abnormal,” Shuichi gave a lopsided smile, “It’s their first time, but I know. I know you’re rotten inside. It’s a shame, they went through a lot of trouble for me, but it’s kind of a turn off.”

One of Shuichi’s hands detached from Kokichi’s neck and reached for his pocket again, and Kokichi could hear the sound of a plastic case popping open. His mind flashed old phrases, burning bright. Stainless Steel. Made in Japan. Say you’re sorry.

“That’s pretty rude, right? Saying something like that. ‘Hey, thanks for the gift but it really pisses me off so I threw it away.’ So I got an idea on the way here. A good compromise. I’ll just…” The sterling silver razor sparkled in the light as it was tucked between Shuichi’s teeth, words humming around its sharpness. “I’ll just empty you out. I’ll scoop out all those disgusting parts of you and replace them with something better. Then you’ll become someone worth keeping around. Someone worth killing.”

Kokichi stared as the razor sucked into Shuichi’s mouth.

A hushed moment passed and — Shuichi’s lips parted slowly, the razor wedged vertically with the sharp edge facing inward, held in place by the grooves between his teeth. With a single flick against it, Shuichi’s tongue erupted with red — scarlet soaking enamel, glossing over the blade, he spat it out, clattering and blurry as it hit the floor.

“Wh-wha —” The word started stuttering out of Kokichi, but it spliced with a squeak of surprise as Shuichi’s mouth smashed into his own. Their lips collided violently, Shuichi’s slick with leaking blood, Kokichi’s dry and chapped from the cold. The taller boy pressed against him harder. Right hand still warmly flat on Kokichi’s neck, pushing him back onto the brick wall as he tried shrinking away. Shuichi’s other hand squeezed at the spot his jaw bone met his molars, forcing his mouth open with a sharp downward tug. A split tongue snaked into him. Kokichi hazily thought in the midst of being consumed that Shuichi tasted odd, salted and rusty and bittersweet like gin and tonic. The wet muscle grinding against his own, an unwelcome proclamation.

The kiss didn’t last so long; it closed as Shuichi’s tongue retreated, and Kokichi swallowed, discomforted by the saliva that pooled in his mouth. He could feel all his blood rushing to color his cheeks a splotchy red, but Shuichi disappointingly remained pale and cool, entirely unaffected. Eyelashes batted on his ivory skin. The only color sat on Shuichi’s lower lip and teeth, a pink laminated glaze of blood and spit.

“You gotta try too. Gotta keep me happy. Since I’m doing you a huge favor, out of the goodness of my heart.” The voice limped, a gentle lisp.

Kokichi said nothing.

“So,” Shuichi’s voice rose, “Don’t tell _me what to do!_ ” 

His hands pulled, jerking Kokichi forward and then back, slamming him into the wall. Kokichi thought all the breath was finally going to leave him with that push. He wanted to pass out. The oscillation from having his peripheral vision shrink and grow and shrink again was dizzying.

‘Why is this happening?’ he thought, reeling, ‘Where am I? Who is this? What is this?’

Fists dropped their hold on the collar, finally, and the boy crashed down to his knees, coughing into the concrete floor.

He should have known. Even with all the soundest logic in the world, no one can reason with insanity.

What should he do? What could he do?

“You get it, right? You understand?” Flecks of crimson danced in Shuichi’s mouth from his lacerated tongue.

(I won’t leave you behind. tick tick tick tick tick tick)

“Yeah,” Kokichi croaked.

 

 

 

There was a light switch in this room. He hadn’t been able to see anything of the sort when he made his initial rounds because it was hidden by the terrarium, always teeming with plants. Shuichi’s hand dipped behind it and pressed on a vertical lever that dimmed the lights significantly. Kokichi grimaced as he felt his pupils dilate. The lights always being on really did something to him on a subconscious level. The room was, if nothing else, thorough in instruments of torment.

The TV turned on, the news again, and Shuichi fell asleep quickly and quietly while he lied down on the couch, clutching a silver hip flask that he occasionally put his mouth to. Shuichi was louder when he was actually asleep. His body shifted constantly, restless, and the sofa complained with him when he moved.

Kokichi chose to remain awake. He felt the hunger crawling up on him again with spindly legs, and he willed himself to ignore it. There was no point in dwelling on it for now. He spent the beginning of the night switching focus diligently. TV, Kaede. Kaede, TV. Had Kaede moved while he was looking away? No, probably not. The TV was turned down to a murmur, so the text and graphics were the main focus on his attention. There hadn’t been anything about him or the disappearances, although he supposed it was old news at this point. It most likely aired before when he was left completely alone. Shuichi had been busy then. What did he say? ‘It’s been busy. Investigation’s full force.’

The news had other things to report on. Events on a more global scale, trade agreements and war, nothing about his city condensed with its own troubles.

Kokichi thought about his dad. A concerned frown behind crinkling gray, the dry smell of newspaper ink that gave him a headache. You should be careful too. He would’ve apologized, but he thought his father would acknowledge that it was pointless. Two adults caught painfully unawares in their own home, outfitted with new locks to keep them safe. Kokichi couldn’t have foreseen that. Couldn’t have prevented it.

He knew that. But it hurt.

Kokichi got up slowly, trying to get to his feet silently. He was getting better at lifting himself up to a standing position, having done it a few times by now, so the chain made minimal noise this time around — still, he froze when he heard Shuichi start to shift, the creak of leather as his arm covering his eyes dropped down by his side, hanging off the cushion at his elbow.

He looked a lot more peaceful when he was sleeping. There was something different from his naturally despondent, neutral face. When he was awake, he was aware. Hypervigilant. Drinking in every detail around him. Given the situation, it made sense? As much sense as it could make. This room was a box of evidence capable of implicating him in a second. Shuichi was probably constantly prepared to run and disappear somewhere.

Shuichi settled, lips parted slightly, relaxed and loose.

Kokichi made his way over to Kaede cautiously, sitting down next to the bed. He studied her face closely. He couldn’t really tell if her color had gotten better, not with the TV bathing everything in an alien green. Her breathing sounded like it smoothed out. A good sign.

“Don’t die,” he whispered, vocalizing the desire for himself.

Kaede’s eyelids fluttered at that moment, cliched, a smooth rise of the blinds, and suddenly those rosy spheres were looking at him.

“Um,” Kokichi uttered, mouth open, wanting to say something and not knowing what to say. His eyes flickered over to Shuichi on the couch — still soundly asleep. Kaede’s face moved slowly, like she was struggling to comprehend what was in front of her. A small amount of drool overflowed from the corner of her mouth, pooling on the embroidered fabric of the mattress.

“Ki…. chi,” she sputtered out, gaze heavily turning to his own startled one, and Kokichi leaned his face in closer to hers so she could see him properly. She was squinting weakly at him.

“Kaede. Kaede, it’s me,” Kokichi whispered, his eyes still wide, “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

Her head moved to the right slightly. He couldn’t tell if that was her adjusting herself or shaking her head. Kokichi desperately wanted to touch her, lift up her head and brush the hair from her face, but he stilled his arms. He just looked at her waiting for a response, not getting any clear movements.

She moved her lips, puckered slightly in an attempt to make a ‘w’ sound, but no air passed and her words were silent. Eyes glimmering weakly. She didn’t look okay, she really didn’t look alright. This felt like he was talking to her on her deathbed.

“Don’t push yourself,” Kokichi said worriedly, and Kaede closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, her shoulders trembling.

“Sh… Shu…,” She started again, concentrating harder this time, “Saved… m-me. Shuichi.”

Shuichi had essentially told Kokichi that Kaede was drugged out of her mind, but the groggy words were suddenly so much more concerning. Kokichi kept silent as Kaede continued.

“Mm sho … happy,” Kaede cracked a smile, words slurring oddly, “Sh-skuh… scary. But, Shu and Koh… Kokichi is shafe…”

“Kaede?” Kokichi pressed his cheek against her shoulder in an attempt to communicate that he was there, he was present with her. “It’s okay. You don’t have to keep talking. Just get some rest.”

He heard sniffling, and he lifted his face to see that Kaede was gently crying, bottom lip lifting up as she tried to stifle the noise.

“What’s wrong… ?” Kokichi asked hesitantly.

“K-Kaito,” she murmured, face dipping into the mattress as she messily wiped her tears. Kokichi stared at her.

“Kaito? What about Kaito?”

“Gotta,” she inhaled violently, “-wash out. W-wa-chu. Wha..”

“Watch out?” Kokichi said, and Kaede gave the smallest nod she could, and her eyes opened again. Kokichi could tell she was going in and out of consciousness now, dangling at the edge. "Kaede, you should go back to bed."

“Careful,” she said.

She closed her eyes and returned to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: my google history looks wild because of this fic
> 
> please let me know if you catch any glaring errors, i proofread this while sick and tired


	15. And

Kokichi snapped his head up, attention caught by Kaede’s whimpering. Feeble arms raised to tap his hands that hovered over a vat of water. He released his grip on her in response, ceasing his attempts to pry apart the knots in her hair.

“That hurts,” she whined.

“Sorry, I’ll, uh, I’ll be gentler,” he said, not sure if that was actually possible to do. Kaede’s hair was so clumped together that it was hard to wash properly without being rough; he had to struggle to pull it apart at every new square inch. Kokichi sourly wondered if her kidnapper had put her head in a spin dryer to leave it in such a sorry state. Soft, pink hands dipped the hair into the water again, soaking the fibrous mass in warm suds. The soap helped to loosen the tangles at least, made his job a bit easier. He squeezed a liberal dollop of conditioner onto his palm. The air smelled sharply of citrus, like someone had peeled a ripe orange under his nose.

With the conditioner slathered on, he used the thicker teeth of a comb to pick apart her hair this time, working slow and steady to stay true to what he had just promised. It was odd how Kaede being here gave him a caretaker’s urge. Right from when Shuichi set her down on the bed, he had a desire to polish her up, make her shiny and clean. Maybe it had to do with how foreign this version of Kaede felt compared to how he normally saw her, but it was more so that she was someone else he could interact with, _finally_ , a delightful reprieve from his usual apprehensive conversations with his captor. A simple task he could throw himself into to quiet the thoughts fizzing in him.

Pulling at a particularly stubborn section, Kokichi studied Kaede’s face, searching for any sign of discomfort. Her complexion was definitively better now, and her speech wasn’t as slurred as last night. If anything, it seemed her sickliness transferred hosts while they all slept; Shuichi had turned the lights back up in the morning, disoriented by an obvious thudding hangover. With that sheen of sweat on him, he pressed his fingers into his temples and hobbled to the bathroom. Kokichi heard him retching behind the closed door, followed by the thick splash of vomit. He groaned along with the plumbing as the toilet flushed.

Kaede had attempted to sit up, a concerned expression painting her face, and she reduced to sniveling when her body refused to comply. She still didn’t have most of her strength back, despite having lifted her foot out of the theoretical grave. With her new lucidity, Kokichi could tell she was growing confused by her surroundings. But she hadn’t asked him any questions yet, and he was grateful. He had no idea how he would even answer her if she did. 

Being here didn’t feel real, even though it had undeniably been his reality for a full seven days, maybe more. It felt as though he would question if anything had happened to him if Shuichi let him go right now. If he went home, he could convince himself that this had been a long, elaborate nightmare. Fake, dusty memories of fear and confusion produced from an awful dream.

Even if he had a full grasp on the situation, Kokichi didn’t want to be the one who explained it to her. Let Shuichi do his own dirty work, let him tell her about the kidnapping — the murders — the fannish stalker too eager to impress — the pushy kiss they shared where he filled Kokichi’s mouth with the blood that oozed from his tongue. Kokichi subconsciously tensed himself at that memory. The operative question was always if he _could_ reveal such things. Maybe saying those things aloud would make them real, and that’s what he was afraid of. He wanted to keep those details tucked away in a far corner of his brain, not acknowledging it was true. Make it feel the same way as when someone reads true crime and feels those tentative butterflies from imagining the gruesome details.

Kokichi almost hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk when Shuichi came out. His voice chirped unevenly as he asked for the cuffs off, and Shuichi looked startled for a moment, like he had forgotten where he was or what he had been doing. The sheen of sweat still rested on his skin when he begrudgingly complied, taking longer to unlock the restraints in his post-alcohol haze. Kokichi timidly asked to clean Kaede up after, and Shuichi closed his eyes. He mumbled a near-inaudible, “I don’t care, do what you want,” and watched as Kokichi padded into the bathroom.

The smaller boy found the bright-green plastic basin and a stack of clean towels in the cupboard under the sink. By the time he filled it up with hot water and heaved it outside, Shuichi was gone, but he only gave it a passing thought, too preoccupied with carrying the supplies outside. He swore under his breath as he felt his fingers crack under the heavy weight of the basin. A few trips in and out. Here they were, Kaede repositioned on the floor, a balled up towel supporting her head, leaning back into the water that was turning lukewarm in the air conditioned room.

This was taking a lot more time than he had anticipated. He had no idea how long he had been sitting here, hunched over and digging the plastic prongs of the comb into these knots, but his neck was sore. He rolled his shoulders back, movement easing the sensation throbbing in his muscles. Scissors would help a lot in this situation. It would let him cut out some of the worst offenders, but he wasn’t sure if holding scissors would look like a threat when Shuichi returned.

Kokichi eventually had to admit defeat. There was no way he could fix all of it, but he did what he could and it looked decent enough. He wrung her hair out gently, wrapped it up in the towel that was jammed under her neck before setting her head down on the floor. He took a moment to dump the water out and refill it. A smaller hand towel submerged in its depths. Kokichi gave it a quick twist to drain out the excess water, and then he was swiping it on her arm. The light-colored cotton steadily turned a faded gray as the grime lifted off her skin.

“This is okay? Not too hot?” Kokichi searched for confirmation as he rubbed the towel over her neck. Kaede hummed pleasantly in response, smiling up at him. So genuine. He tried to reciprocate and hoped he looked convincing. He didn’t know if it was lucky or unfortunate that she didn’t fully know what was going on. They remained in silence for a while, with him dutifully scrubbing, quiet broken only by an occasional sloshing of water in the background. A sense of satisfaction rose in him as he saw her skin recover its original robustness from under all that dirt. The vat of water, in contrast, had already turned murky and opaque from how many times he dipped back into it.

He was at her thighs, careful not to lift up her rumpled skirt, when he felt her reaching for him. Her hand tapped on his, mouth opening to speak.

“Kuh —”

They were interrupted by the creak of the door opening.

Kokichi turned to see Shuichi standing in the doorway, carrying a tray of food, two white ceramic bowls wobbling on silver. The utensils clattered together as he walked. He headed towards them, carefully balancing the platform in his hands, looking significantly less ill now. The smell of garlic wafted out, overpowering the shampoo with its intensity.

“Mm, you’re awake now? How are you feeling?” A gentle smile formed on his face as he set the tray of food down on the floor. Kokichi saw the soup in the bowls ripple as they settled, chopped, soft-looking vegetables bouncing buoyantly on the surface of the dark broth. Kokichi resisted the urge to scramble away when Shuichi took a seat beside them, feeling discomforted by his closeness, unsettled by his apparent amiability. This Shuichi resembled the version he first met: quiet, shy, soft and rounded edges.

 _Fake_. The word burned in him.

“Better. Sleeeeepy.” Kaede giggled, gaze tilting to meet the eyes that were peering down at her. Then her face fell slightly, and her tone sobered. “Shuichi, what’s going on? This?”

She wiggled her hand, the chain connected to her wrist jangling like a chunky metal bracelet. It struck Kokichi all at once how trusting she seemed in that moment. She motioned to the restraints like Shuichi wouldn’t know what she was referring to otherwise, like there was a reasonable explanation behind everything, an explanation she would understand as soon as he just told her. It didn’t appear lost on the detective either, his expression contorting in amusement. 

“Kaede,” Shuichi cooed, uncharacteristically doting. His hand knocked against Kokichi’s as it moved to lace his fingers with hers. The blond watched him, brow knit together in confusion as she waited for an answer. “My Kaede.”

Kaede’s neck shot a vibrant pink at his words. She emitted a noise of embarrassment, and her eyes fluttered closed on instinct as she saw Shuichi lean in. Her hand twitched, face steadily relaxing, as his lips brushed against hers before they pressed into a tender kiss. Kokichi felt a desire to look away, kept staring at Shuichi regardless. 

Again, the phrase festered. _Fake. What are you planning?_

His head lifted after a few beats, and his hand left hers to graze her cheek, brushing Kaede’s damp hair away. She returned to a quizzical gaze, pleased but dissatisfied. She wanted an answer to the question she asked him.

“This is it,” Shuichi whispered.

Her eyelids lifted to attention. She smiled awkwardly, the way someone does out of politeness when they hear something they don’t understand.

“This is… what?” Slow and cumbersome, the words left her tongue. Shuichi’s sweet smile wobbled.

“Revenge,” he said.

His hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed.

Kaede’s expression morphed fantastically under his grip; she sang an inhuman cry, cut in pieces as her throat closed. Shuichi’s shoulders bucked forward as he pressed his weight down into her, and Kokichi was there as well before he fully registered that he had moved, hands scrambling on top of hands.

“Wait, you can’t — !” It didn’t occur to him that the words were his, shrieked in panic as he tried to pry Shuichi off of her neck. He was scratching at his grip frantically, leaving angry red streaks as skin caught under his nails, but the hands refused to relent. Shuichi wouldn’t even acknowledge him, eyes trained on Kaede’s gasping face as it turned to a deep scarlet, twisted pathetically in pain. Her own arms were too frail to fight back, hands weakly wrapping around his wrists instead.

Kokichi was wailing. “Stop, don’t, Shuichi, stop stop _stop_.” He saw tears drip down Kaede’s face as her eyes rolled back into her head. Shuichi pressed forward again, eliciting a gurgling sob from the girl below, and his mouth mutated into a dangerous grin, spasmed once. Laughter overflowed from him, rising like a foreboding siren, dangerous and crazed.

Kokichi was suddenly gripped with the fear that _no one_ would be able to pull Shuichi away. That unbridled rapture danced in Shuichi’s gaze. He looked as though there wasn’t a single more pleasurable act in the world he could do. Someone could shoot him through the heart and he would remain with his fingers locked on their target, refusing to let go even in death.

But there was a loud, ragged inhale then, and Kaede’s chest ballooned as Shuichi released his hold on her.

“Don’t worry.” His lips devolved to a beatific smile. “I wouldn’t kill you so quickly. We have plenty of time.”

“Sh-Shu…” Kaede made an attempt to speak, stopped when she found the drain of air was too painful to bear. Her shoulders pulled up to her ears. Arms crossed over her chest as she reached for her neck, wincing as she made contact.

“I was so worried about you.” Utterly calm. “I thought you would die without ever realizing what you did. But I was stressed out over nothing.”

As Shuichi separated himself from them, Kokichi found himself shifting towards Kaede’s front, implicitly blocking her from the detective’s reach. Shuichi’s tongue pushed out between his teeth as he coltishly smiled again. The smaller boy could see a dark line of scabbing cemented in its middle.

Kaede whimpered behind him, weakly blubbering out Shuichi’s name, seeking answers she didn’t yet know were impossible to get.

“Ah, after you eat,” Shuichi was saying, a curled finger tapping on his bottom lip in thought, “You should get washed up too. For our guest today.”

Kokichi didn’t answer. He already knew who he was talking about. 

Shuichi waited for a few seconds before he turned away, and Kokichi watched as he sat down and pulled out two pieces of cardstock from the desk drawer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a great conversation with my roommates  
> them: hey henkitry let's drink  
> me: i can't, i wanna finish up this chapter  
> them: c'mon  
> me: okay just a little, but then i'm going to write
> 
> and then i didn't
> 
> shuichi really loves strangling people, huh. thank you for your patience, sorry the wait was a little longer than normal. i have most of the next chapter done so hopefully that'll be up soon as well!


	16. We

It was the first time Kokichi had seen Kaede cry so freely. He took meager sips of his soup while her palms raised to cover her swollen eyes, salted condensation sticking to skin like morning dew. For a while, she sobbed passionately enough to drown out Kokichi’s spoon clinking on the ceramic bowl, and the sight was disconcerting enough that he ceased moving, the concave end of the utensil pressed nervously into his bottom lip as he swallowed a chunk of boiled carrot. At the other end of the room, a calligraphy pen tapped vigorously on the border of the wooden desk. 

There was a loud sound — Shuichi’s hip flask bounced as it was thrown on the floor, and his leg was shaking restlessly when he turned.

“Hey.” Shuichi’s voice made up for its newfound distance in loudness. “Stop crying. You’re distracting me.”

Kaede gave a startled squeal at the deafening clatter of metal on cement and pushed her hand into her mouth to silence herself. Kokichi was reminded of something he thought last night, long after Kaede had fallen asleep after garbling out her mysterious no-context warning: he had to be very careful. A saving grace for his sanity, Kaede was also a hindrance when it came to his plans for escaping. He would have to store away every scheme he thought of when Shuichi had previously left, postpone it until she was in a condition to be running away. With a fidgety swallow, he reminded himself that it was no longer just his life on the line. Any move he made now affected both of them.

(be careful. protect her. _careful_ , like she slurred in his ear.)

He watched as Kaede’s body wracked with tremors, desperately silent, and he wondered if Shuichi saw that same face on him whenever he struggled. The spoon lowered slowly back into the bowl.

“You should eat,” Kokichi said. Kaede shook her head. The boy was inwardly grimacing as he realized how garbage he was at providing comfort. What would Kaede normally do for him? He couldn’t remember properly. “You have to eat to get better.” It wasn’t as though Kokichi knew when they would get food again. Shuichi fed him at wildly differing intervals — this was actually only his second meal in this room — and whether it was intentional torture or something born out of forgetfulness, it would be foolish to pass it up.

Kaede remained reluctant until he pleaded with her for the fifth time to eat, when she finally relented after her well of tears dried up. After he helped her sit, Kokichi cautiously spoon fed her, seeing that she was shaking too much to properly feed herself. He wondered if Kaede had properly processed what Shuichi had said to her and knew what he was referring to, or if this was only her body’s natural reaction to being in danger. The spoon clacked on her teeth whenever she hiccuped.

“It’s… good,” Kaede murmured, fresh globular tears caught between her lashes. She sniffled, skin rubbed raw as she dragged her sleeve on her face, and Kokichi balled up his fist in the hem of his t-shirt and dabbed at her cheeks. The residual wetness touched his fingers as it soaked through the cotton.

By the time he focused back on his own bowl, the soup was already cold. It made little difference to him. He finished the broth first, picked at the solids after, mushy bits of vegetables he would normally bypass in favor for anything else. He forced himself to eat all of it, and it was surprisingly flavorful, not the bland paste he was expecting it to be. Kaede was leaning back on the cot’s frame, eyes closed, awake but exhausted. Kokichi couldn’t blame her for feeling that way. He cleaned up the tray on his own when he finished, standing and setting in on the island.

Shuichi’s head lifted as he heard the metal clatter on marble, and he swiveled around in his chair, pen still in hand.

“Finished?” Shuichi asked, prompting a curt nod from the other boy. Kokichi fixated on his pen, not wanting to meet Shuichi’s gaze. The cloying way he said the question made Kokichi feel sick. Like he was playing a game and dominating his competition, a fake humbleness of a secretly sore winner. The pen was capped and put away to the side, and he stood up from his chair. “Then, inside.” A hand gestured to the bathroom.

Not really knowing what to expect, Kokichi nervously complied as Shuichi followed behind him. The door was closed as much as it could be with the chain snaking through the air, pulled taut against the white frame. He glanced back as Shuichi jammed the door on the chain, saw that his captor had carried things into the room he hadn’t noticed him carrying before. A pair of silver zip ties and a weighty set of fabric shears, blades coated in thin brown. Upon seeing his gaze, Shuichi smiled, expertly twirling the scissors in his fingers.

“Hands,” he said, a simple command. Kokichi stared at his face, stared at the scissors, stared at Shuichi again. The other male waited, oddly patient, lacking the hard antsy undertone he normally had when talking to him. Kokichi wondered if it was because he was already satisfied for today, having attacked Kaede earlier, then felt bad about experiencing that comfort at her expense.

With his wrists pressed together, Kokichi put his hands out towards the other. Shuichi wrapped the first zip tie around them. As it pulled tight, the metal edges dug into him, and Kokichi winced as he felt the fat puff out around it. It was pinching him uncomfortably somewhere. He contorted his limbs to try to find where the tie had snagged his skin, but Shuichi ducked his head into the gap between his arms. Elbows bent outward, Kokichi felt himself being lifted up by Shuichi’s shoulders as he straightened, a confused squeak sounding from him as he felt thumbs hook into the waistline of his pants.

“Wh-what are you doing?” The question came out in a high-pitched yelp, feeling his clothes pull down. He squeezed his thighs together to try to keep them in place.

An annoyed sigh next to his ear. “Putting you in the shower. So you gotta take your clothes off.”

“I, I can do that on my —” Kokichi started, but his voice lost traction as his feet left the floor, Shuichi lifting him up further, arm wrapped around his torso. His arms tightened around Shuichi’s neck for support; his legs wiggled as he tried to find the ground again, toes barely grazing the tile. Deft fingers were shimmying the clothes off of him, his pants and boxers hitting the floor with a quiet rustle, and Kokichi felt his skin flare with heat, suddenly too aware of Shuichi’s body pressed up on his own. His hands twitched. He wanted to grab his shirt and pull it down, shrink into it like a turtle. Shuichi was already kicking his clothes away from under him.

His footing reestablished itself as he was lowered, but he froze as he heard the fabric shears snipping away. His neck twisted around, trying to see what was happening. Shuichi was pulling up his t-shirt by the hem, hooking the cutting edge under it, chopping through the fabric. The blunt edge of the scissors periodically brushed against him as they worked. A thrilling chill on flushed skin. He tucked his face into Shuichi’s shoulder, cheeks ruddy and glowing, disconcerted by the other’s aloofness. He could cry from embarrassment. This interaction felt dirty, too intimate for his liking.

He felt the ripped shirt fall to pieces, opening his upper body to the air. Everything felt hot and cold at once. In his shame, he flinched as he felt Shuichi’s palm press on his back, rubbing his skin, heat seeping in.

“So clean.” The words broke Kokichi out of his blushing trance.

“H-huh?” He stammered as Shuichi ducked his head out from between his arms, now separated from him. Kokichi immediately dropped his bound hands to cover himself up, fumbling back into the glass walls of the standing shower. Shuichi was staring at him so intensely it made him dizzy.

“You don’t have a single mark on you,” Shuichi said, eyes flickering over the naked boy in front of him. “Most people have a scar, a birthmark, a mole or something. Even tan lines. But you’re just the same color everywhere. It’s weird.”

“Is it?” Kokichi questioned, focusing on the bathroom tile, wishing Shuichi would look somewhere else, anywhere else.

“Ah, well, it just,” Shuichi was saying, sounding faint and far away, “Reminds me of someone, that’s all.” The other zip tie glinted in his hand. “Do you think I’ll need to use this before I take your collar off?”

Kokichi hesitated, surprised he had asked at all. He whispered out a small “no.” Shuichi smiled.

“You’re probably right. I was thinking about washing you myself, but,” Shuichi motioned for him to come forward, key ring dancing in his grip. His hands reached around his neck and slipped the key into the collar, right where the chain was connected. It fell off with a gentle clang. “You wouldn’t abandon Kaede. Because you’re such a _good_ friend.” Kokichi clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything in response. “Knock when you’re done. I’ll have a change of clothes for you.”

“Okay,” Kokichi said, watching cautiously as Shuichi gathered the chain up on his way out, door closing shut behind him.

 

 

 

He stepped into the shower. The water was freezing at first, Kokichi shrinking away from it with a flinch. He ran his hands under it, relishing in the buzz it produced on his skin, dipped under the shower head when he felt it turn warm. The heat felt undeniably comforting. He stretched into the hot water, steam opening up his pores, unraveling his sore muscles. The air filled with that pervasive citrus smell again as he squirted shampoo onto his hand, awkwardly massaging it into his hair.

Back home, he would normally spend too long thinking, but he found himself curiously devoid of all thoughts for the first few minutes. The water washed over him in streamers, soaking him to his core. Maybe his brain had decided that he had done enough thinking, enough rehashing, enough assuming. Although — in a brief moment, he thought about Kaede, near-paralyzed and laying still on the cot bed. Shuichi clamping his hands around her neck with that glint in his eyes. Wondered why he kept them both alive, why Shuichi looked so different when he hurt her compared to him.

He ran his hands over his face as he washed the soap from his hair, temporarily blinded by the flowing water. Thoughts formed, pieced together like a puzzle, broke apart again in segmented phrases. He wondered about the stalker again, wondered how they knew Shuichi, why they liked him so much. He was never under the impression that his stalker was a stable member of society, but to like someone who did such gruesome things — how was he going to get away now? Did he really have to hold out until Kaede got better or someone came to rescue them?

There were twenty-or-so baggies of evidence hidden in Shuichi’s drawer. That was a lot of students to go missing, and no one’s scope of power was so prevalent in this city that they could cover up a scandal that big. The news only reported four dead, though, so at what point of the investigation were the police actually on?

A thought occurred to him suddenly. _You could leave her. You could leave Kaede behind and save yourself._

He shook his head violently, splashing water from his hair like a dog. He tasted the nervousness rising in him and he washed out his mouth with shower water, spitting out all the memories of bile and food and Shuichi’s blood. Soapy bubbles gathered around the drain by his feet. Maybe he would die without ever knowing the truth about why this happened to him. He wondered if Shuichi was the type of explain everything to someone on the premise that they would die, they would be able to tell no one anyway. He stayed for a while, musing to himself, and then, skin smelling of lavender and oranges, Kokichi turned the shower off and stepped out.

 

 

 

Holding the towel felt weird with his wrists locked together, so Shuichi ended up drying his hair for him, fluffing the towel over wet locks until the ends stopped dripping with water. His hair sprang to life once the excess water was coaxed out of it, strands curling cutely upwards. He couldn’t deny that it felt refreshing to be clean, free of the dirt and oil that built up on him. The towel swabbed at his neck before the collar locked back on around it, much to his chagrin, and then the zip tie was cut from his wrists, leaving behind a vivid racetrack of vermilion running under his hands.

Shuichi had brought in a neatly folded change of clothes for him; the shirt was _maybe_ Shuichi’s, a blue button down too baggy on his body, hem ending past the fullness of his hips, but the black shorts and underwear fit his body snugly. It was an exceedingly casual look, something he would wear if he was a model for a magazine ad, pretending like these were comfortable pajamas for bed. Long colt legs splayed out on white sheets, surrounded by lace pillows and a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Maybe he would even lean into a rotary telephone, indigo lashes tickling his cheeks, mouth open wide in an exaggerated laugh.

Shuichi must have bought the shorts and boxers for him, knowing that most of his own clothes were pointless for Kokichi to wear. It made sense in a profoundly uncomfortable way. Did Shuichi find this kind of look attractive? Kokichi felt dressed up, the way a sadistic child primps up their dolls before drowning them in a stopped up sink.

“Hey, Kokichi,” Shuichi prompted as the damp towel draped on Kokichi’s shoulders. They had relocated to the main room, and Kokichi sat on the desk chair, thighs wetly sticking to the leather seat. Kaede somehow had returned to lay down on the cot, appearing to be asleep again.

Shuichi held the comb Kokichi had struggled to use earlier on Kaede. The teeth scratched his scalp, and a weird shiver traveled through him as Shuichi brushed his hair. “Which do you think is worse, dying or living long enough to see everyone you love die?”

Kokichi lifted his head slightly, baffled by the random line of questioning. He should be getting used to the nonsense Shuichi always said, but it had yet to happen. He only answered for the sake of self-preservation. “Um. Second one.”

“How do you figure?”

Irritated, he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to have a philosophical discussion with this person. “Because… because it’s too painful. If you die, you don’t feel anything any more.”

“Do you understand what you’re saying?” Shuichi said with a flick of the comb, “By that logic, I did your parents a favor.”

“Ugh, you — ” Kokichi covered his lips with his fingers after the displeased statement began to unintentionally slip from him. He watched Shuichi, who seemed unperturbed by his partial outburst. What was the point in this? There was a sharp tug as the comb’s teeth hit a snag in his hair, and Kokichi whined as it forcefully pulled his head back.

“Pain is unpleasant, but it’s because your body is scared to die. Everyone can fight through pain, but there’s no way to fight against death, right?” Shuichi’s eyes glazed, and suddenly he was no longer consciously present with Kokichi, despite continuing to speak, “You know, I told them before they died, I said I was there for you. I hit their larynx right away so they couldn’t talk or anything. So I sat down and took my time with them.”

Kokichi shifted his gaze down to his hands, balled up into fists. The anger bubbled in him, and he choked it back down.

“But I could see it. How they thought about protecting you in their final moments. People are very honest when they’re about to die, so they must have really loved you.”

Kokichi’s fists tightened, trembling with their own force, and he clamped his teeth down on his lip. The corners of his eyes turned hot with tears.

“Your dad went quickly, but your mom was conscious when you came home. It surprised both of us. That look on her face when she heard the door open,” Shuichi’s eyes narrowed into sinister slits, “It felt _so—o_ good.”

Before Kokichi could think to respond, there was a sharp knocking on the door. His head followed the direction of the noise rapidly. Shuichi also switched his gaze, much less alarmed by it compared to his prisoner. Kaede was still asleep.

“Shuichi.” A familiar voice came from outside. Shuichi set the comb down on the desk, face lighting up, excited with a vile undertone, said a lightly surprised “oh” in reaction.

“That’s them?” Kokichi said, the words leaking out pitifully. Oh no, oh no, oh no. The dread danced in his stomach, pattered in his heart.

“That’s them,” Shuichi breathed in confirmation.

“Open up,” the voice said, and the door handle jiggled impatiently. Shuichi was making his way over.

“Be on your best behavior, okay?” He grinned like he made a terrific joke. Kokichi bit his lip harder.

The door unlocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double combo!! for reference, chapter 15 + 16 were originally just one chapter, but it ended up extending over 4.5k words so I split them up. i didn't write this entire chapter in one day or anything lol please don't .... expect that of me
> 
> i feel pretty gross after writing this haha ....... oh boy o(_ _;o)


	17. Both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : there are some mentions of self harm in this chapter, please be cautious if this is a triggering topic for you!

Kokichi had an inkling of who it was when he heard them. The voice was light and high, carrying an understated familiarity. It wasn’t a voice he was so used to hearing that he could pinpoint it right away — someone he knew, but not someone he knew very well. So he should have expected it when he saw Maki standing dutifully at attention when Shuichi opened the door. But he had been stunned anyway.

At first, the two said nothing, merely looked at one another. Maki rocked on the balls of her feet, expression rhapsodic and overly keen, a touch skittish. She was clutching at the arm straps of the backpack she was toting, black nylon bulging with randomly shaped edges. Then Shuichi angled his body out of the doorway, extending an implicit invitation to enter. He hadn’t said hello, but the way his eyes narrowed gave Kokichi the impression that he was pleased to see her. She stepped inside, gaze circling the room over and over again as if to drink in every detail.

“You cut your hair,” Shuichi mentioned blandly as he closed and locked the door. Maki nodded in confirmation despite how obvious it was — the last time Kokichi had seen her (that amusement park, a weird faint memory, had he ever been that carefree before?), her hair had been bunched into those low pigtails, long raven rivulets that changed course on her back as she walked. Now her hair was chopped off into a bob that brushed the tops of her shoulders as she moved, though her blunt bangs stayed virtually the same.

The more Kokichi inspected her, the more primped up she seemed, waltzing into a den of murder with jean shorts and a black sweater that bunched up to her elbows. Her lips were shiny with gloss, and the corners of her eyes extended with a dramatically black wing.

The fact that she dressed up to meet a serial killer the same way she would dress for a date with Kaito was nauseating. His head was spinning.

Her smile widened, sickly saccharine. “You were right, it’s safer this way. No handles.”

As if something pinged loudly on an inner radar, her eyes suddenly snapped to Kokichi on her left. He stared back at her, unable to look away.

“Oh, hey, it’s been a while!” Her voice lilted happily like she was having a reunion with an old friend. The smaller boy didn’t say anything back to her, lacking anything substantial to say that wouldn’t get him in trouble. She took a step towards him, and he pushed his foot on the ground and wheeled himself back. The chair hit a corner, the endpoint where desk met brick wall. A combative laugh shook out of her when she saw his reaction, and while she stopped moving, Shuichi came for him, causing him to instinctively shrink back as the other snatched the damp towel off his shoulders. Shuichi trod towards the bathroom to put it away.

With her looking at him, in the suffocating confines of this terrible room, he confirmed it easily: it was her. The stalker, the person who had been following him around for months, flickering like a ghost just outside his scope of vision. He was sure of it because he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. His thoughts trembled. _Don’t let her out of your sight_ , his brain was pleading with him, _or you won’t be able to see what’s coming._

Was it possible to feel so much paranoia when the perpetrator was standing in front of him?

Maki shrugged off her pack, letting it hit the floor with a loud clang. Despite himself, Kokichi scowled — more metal, exactly what this room needed more of.

“How does Shuichi like his present? Has he been good?” Maki said, never looking away even as she addressed someone else. Kokichi finally tore his gaze away as he noticed Shuichi coming back from the bathroom, but the jitter remained ever present.

“He’s been a pain. Way more talkative than I’m used to,” Shuichi said nonchalantly.

There was little doubt in Kokichi’s mind that Shuichi was saying that to put pressure on him. Kokichi glanced back at Maki to gauge her reaction to his poor review, saw her smile falter briefly. The corners of her mouth twitched with disappointment. She made for him again, and he tried shrinking back as he had done before, but there was too little purchase behind him to make a difference. He was already pushed up to the wall as much as he could be. There was nowhere for him to run.

Maki’s words slithered out of her, a disgusted hiss, “Is that true? You’ve been bothering him?”

“No,” Kokichi squeaked out without thinking, compelled by the chill in his veins as his heart skipped a beat. He frantically looked towards Shuichi, a miserably silent appeal for him to step in and stop her. The other male just remained where he was, his own smile crooked and teasing when they locked eyes. He raised his shoulders in a small shrug, the equally silent, spiteful response: ‘Maybe, if I feel like it.’

The chair suddenly rattled as Maki’s arms surrounded his vision, her hands clamping to the back of the desk chair, trapping him in front of her. Kokichi started pulling into himself, subconsciously placing his arms up in preparation to push her away. If she noticed, she didn’t acknowledge it at all.

“So you’re calling him a liar? You think he would lie to me?” She spat at him. Kokichi marveled at how instigative she was — she was riling herself up over virtually nothing, zero to a hundred in five seconds flat, a record-breaking time.

When he had been alone moments before, he likened Shuichi to a lighthouse that peered over a dark ocean. Standing in the background yet directing everyone through crags that jutted from the sea, seeing and knowing. If that was him, then Maki was a scorching blast furnace, flames licking on sooty metal as it raged, struggling to burst from its containment. Kokichi never felt this sensation so unfettered before. A predator’s disposition. Locked onto him, seeking to tear him apart.

“No,” Kokichi repeated. His throat clenched.

“Then what are you saying, Kokichi? Which one’s the truth?” The smile extended, pointed and toothy.

“Maki, stop playing with him and come here,” Shuichi said, watching them with his elbows pushed against the island counter top. Maki’s hair bounced airily as she turned, a soft ‘hmph’ as she tugged the backpack away. The bottom of the bag dragged along the floor with a dull scraping noise. As she left, Kokichi became aware of the frantic pulse that thumped in his neck, something he had unconsciously muted when he was too fixated on his stalker’s invading presence. He took a fluttering exhale.

Maki joined the other at the island, standing at the side adjacent to where Shuichi was leaning. Shuichi was cupping his hands around his chin as he watched her haul the bag onto the counter. She unzipped the bag in one swift motion, and the fabric of the bag eased itself as the stress on it was released. Maki began unloading it carefully, unearthing a variety of miscellaneous objects. A small blowtorch, shiny and gray with a black rubber grip; a box of brassy thumbtacks; a black baton; a pack of cigarettes and matches.

“What’re these?” Shuichi asked when she dropped a baggie of garishly colored pills. It looked like a 3D representation of stickers that elementary school teachers would paste onto homework. She brightened when she saw him picking it up, and her eyes flickered to Kokichi before she scampered over to the detective, whispering it in his ear with her hand over her mouth. Shuichi’s face opened with interest.

“Why do you have something like this?” He questioned. Maki flitted back to her bag, admiring her little pile of mismatched weapons.

“Perks of a druggie mom. She’s a wreck, so she never notices when things go missing. Oh!” She waved her hands, gingerly pulling out a brown paper bag. The thin paper was beginning to wetly tear from condensation. “I stole this for us too.”

Shuichi tore the bag down one of its folded seams, revealing a rounded, sweating bottle of whiskey. A scoff. “You’re an enabler.”

“Only when you want me to be.”

“How do I know you’re not trying to poison me?”

“You have plenty of test tasters here,” Maki said with an amorous wave of her lashes. Shuichi set the bottle down after he rolled it once in his hands.

“Then go ahead.”

The brunette made a chopping motion with her hand, signaling her need for a blade. Shuichi leaned in and slid one of the cherry-oak drawers open, pulling out a knife, sliding it across the warm marble. Kokichi couldn’t fathom their easy conversation. They were talking like they had known each other for years, even though it was obvious that Shuichi remained mildly suspicious of the girl next to him, off put by her wheedling tone. Maybe it was just because he had never really seen them interact before; even when they all hung out together, Kokichi was used to Shuichi sticking to Kaede and Maki sticking to Kaito. They had barely acknowledged each other in the few times they’ve grouped up. Maybe it was on purpose.

Kokichi pushed his legs more into his chest, a comforting gesture to calm himself down. His hands absent-mindedly wrung at the hem of his shorts.

Maki had completely emptied her bag by this point, and there was a metallic echo as it zipped up, empty and sagging. She tossed it on the floor without a care. Fingers fiddled with the opening of the baggie, scraping out a bright orange, perfectly circular pill. She crushed it into two halves using the sharp edge of the knife, pushed her finger hard on one of the sliced semicircles, placed it on her outstretched tongue. She made a show of grinding it to dust on the roof of her mouth, and then she swallowed a mouthful of whiskey to wash it down. Her mouth opened again, as though to confirm she had taken it. As if there could be any reasonable doubt. Shuichi indulged her, poking his fingers in, feeling under her tongue. A thin line of saliva connected them when he pulled away.

“Trust me now?” Maki pressed her finger down on the other half of the pill, holding it out like a balanced contact lens.

Shuichi shook his head, but he had that pleased look on him again. He wiped his fingers on his pants. “We’ll see if you die first.” How lovely. Maki laughed as she unstuck the pill from her skin, a crumb of orange on the counter top.

What did she just take? Kokichi could ascertain that it must be something illicit from the context clues in their conversation, but it was a pointless endeavor for him to try and identify it. Drugs and alcohol were things that existed in a completely separate social sphere from his daily life, and even if he knew names, he didn’t have a very extensive reference point to know what certain drugs would do. Not knowing how it was going to affect her behavior increased his paranoia, and he remained in the chair like his entire life depended on it, hoping that he could make them forget he and Kaede were also present.

“What do you have planned for today?” Maki asked.

“Knife,” Shuichi said simply, crooking his finger. She slid the blade back over to him without complaint. He picked it up, twirling the length of cold steel in his hands. Said another word. “Kaede.”

They turned to see Kaede wide awake, staring back at them with large discus eyes.

 

 

“Get away from me!” Kaede kicked her legs with little success when Maki grabbed for her. Clawing hands snagged her shirt, and there was another shriek as the brunette threw Kaede off the bed. A sharp crack as she landed on her bent arm, taking the brunt of the force. She laid there for a short moment, clutching at her elbow, a repetitious ‘ow’ falling from her as she sobbed, trying to roll away from her attacker. Maki took her place on the mattress, burying her hand in the mass of yellow hair to pull Kaede up, slamming her shoulders into the bed frame. Maki’s knees were positioned on either sides of Kaede’s torso, pushed inward to lock her in place.

“You’re such a baby,” Maki goaded. Kaede sniffled loudly, face already wet, unable to properly resist in her current state. “Keep crying! See if it’ll help.”

“Why are you doing this?!” The blond puled desperately, hands raising to fight against the grip in her hair. Maki caught hold of her wrists and yanked them backwards, hand leaving her hair in favor of pinning Kaede’s arms down to the bed behind her. Kaede was still weakly struggling as Shuichi approached them, tools filling up his hands: the knife, a hand towel, the canister of salt, the case of hair pins. He dumped everything but the knife on the floor. Kokichi remained in the corner he backed himself into, staring at the altercation until Shuichi crouched down, obscuring Kaede’s upper half with the expanse of his back.

Kokichi struggled to figure out what to do. They weren’t paying attention to him anymore, but there wasn’t anything he could do to get them away from Kaede, nothing that wouldn’t be short-term with disastrous consequences following it. He lowered his legs from the seat, shakily standing and inching towards the group, hands positioned on the wall to steady himself. Both Kaede and Maki glanced at him as he moved forward, two opposite looks. Kaede stared with a visual plea, cheeks burning splotchy red, while Maki’s eyes squinted, a dare to come closer. 

About halfway there, Kokichi felt his legs fold under him, and he let himself ease into sitting. He gave a puff of nervous breath. Maki looking at him basically turned his limbs into jelly. There was no way. There wasn’t anything he could say that would convince Shuichi to spare his friend. His body tingled with a feeling of helplessness.

Kaede wiggled some more, but Shuichi pushed her thighs together, sat on top of her legs. His chest hovered over hers, barely a foot of distance between them. He placed the knife he was holding down by his bent knee.

“Shu — ah!” Kaede gave a pained cry as Shuichi pushed her head back, a loud clang as her skull hit metal. She devolved into stammering out sounds that weren’t really words, just word-like noises slurred together, and Shuichi dragged his hand from her forehead to her temple, catching loose strands of her bangs between his fingers. In his left hand, he tore into the paper backing of the package of hair clips, took out a shiny gleaming silver barrette.

“What are those for?” Maki quipped, head leaning over the other girl’s in curiosity. Shuichi clipped the hair to the side, out of Kaede’s eyes.

“Stops them from hiding their face,” Shuichi said. He picked up the knife again. Kaede whimpered softly as the blunt edge grazed her stomach, the knife hooking under her shirt and sawing upwards, fabric spreading apart like curtains. As her abdomen steadily revealed itself, Kokichi could see small rising scars below the band of her bra, dotting her skin like tiny speed bumps. The scars were pale and rubbery, healed long before she had been brought into the room, probably from before she went missing. The knife finally cut through the collar of her shirt and the remainder of the fabric draped around her, released from its fulcrum.

Kaede whimpered again, shifting in Maki’s grip on her arms. “D-Don’t… don’t look.”

Shuichi ignored her, his other hand splaying over her ribs, watching as the skin turned white around his probing fingers.

“Did you know she’s a cutter?” Maki asked, a casual tone contrasting harshly with the topic of conversation.

Shuichi nodded once. “She's told me before.” He didn’t look up; the curve of the knife was poised vertically over her stomach, the tip immediately above her belly button, and Kaede gave a shriek strangled with tears as she felt the cold metal touch her.

“No, no, what’re you doing? What are you gonna do?” Kaede sobbed uncontrollably, arms rattling in Maki’s hold, stomach convulsing as it tried to retreat from the knife and subdue her crying at the same time. “Shuichi, please, you can’t, I love you, please, don’t do this, don’t do this to me —”

“That’s all you can say? Shuichi, Shuichi! Please help me!” Maki mocked with a high-pitched twang. She crushed Kaede’s wrists in her grip, yanking her arms back further, and Kaede wailed as her upper body contorted, pulling upward, knife lightly dragging on her midriff to make a shallow cut. The detective seemed to ignore both of them. Shuichi’s hand lifted up, tilted down, readying itself to make a deeper incision. The knife was smiling.

Kokichi felt his heart squeeze in distress.

Was this scene even real?

“ _Wait, wait!_ ” he found himself yelling before he was even conscious of it, “ _I’ll do it!_ ”

Shuichi’s head twisted over his shoulder, staring back at him, focused like a deer in headlights. “What?”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll… !” Kokichi swallowed thickly, trying to speak through the lump in his throat, caught off guard by his own idea, “I’ll take her place, so… don’t, don’t hurt her.”

“ _What?_ ” Maki spoke this time, her lips morphed in an incredulous grin. Her face was flushed from excitement — whatever she had taken was hitting her full force, pupils blown open with euphoria. “You’ll take her place?” Kaede stared back at Kokichi as well, eyes widened at his outburst.

“Hm.” Shuichi raised the knife off of Kaede’s stomach, pressing the tip gently under her chin. She gave a garbled cry as the point poked her, a reaction mostly from fear, the blade not yet breaking skin. Maki was giggling madly above her as Kokichi’s legs twitched, instinctively wanting to run over.

“Kokichi lied to me, he does talk a lot,” Maki cackled.

“Shame he never talks nicely.” Shuichi twirled the knife.

Kokichi sucked in a deep breath, shutting his eyes. He hated this feeling, the sensation of his muscles refusing to respond, feeling thin and frail. “Please?”

Maki’s hair flew around her face as she threw her head back, taunting. “That’s not compelling at a—ll! Get on your knees, bow your head down, beg with all your heart! ‘Shuichi, please use me, I want you to cut me open instead!’” Her nails clawed into Kaede’s arms, and the captured girl gave a shaky gasp.

This wasn’t real. His brain hummed.

Kokichi looked to Shuichi, who only blinked coolly back at him, neither affirming or shutting down Maki’s suggestion. The hand holding the knife twitched dangerously.

He had to act before his resolve weakened. His mouth felt dry as he tucked his legs under him, leaning forward to sit on his hands and knees. His arms shook uncertainly with his weight. Shuichi’s expression turned curious, the last thing Kokichi saw before he was face to face with gray cement. Touching his forehead to the floor, he inhaled, trying to calm himself down. His voice still trembled weakly as he spoke.

“Shu-Shuichi… uh, p-please,” he choked out, fingers steepling with the urge to clench his hands. “Use me instead. I-I, um.” His skin was glowing hot under the twin gazes, and he became dizzy as his blood pumped unevenly. “I w-want… I want you… to cut me open.”

Shuichi dropped the knife.

There was a startled yelp from Kaede as the black handle bounced off of her, then a clattering noise as steel scraped the floor. Kokichi lifted his head up in time to see Maki writhing with laughter, shoulders shaking. Shuichi turned sharply away from him, one hand fumbling for the knife, the other pressed hard over his mouth. His ears were turning red.

“He did it, he really did it?!” Maki screeched. She looked to Shuichi, almost urging him to laugh along with her at Kokichi’s shame. His hand had found the weapon again, gripped it until his knuckles whitened like snow.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Shuichi finally said, and he turned back to the other boy, teeth chewing on the skin of his fingers. His expression had changed. Unhinged. The gold specks of his irises shivered along with him.

This was a mistake. Shuichi slowly stopped his incessant chewing, letting his hand drop. He still appeared unsure when he spoke again, not meeting Kokichi’s gaze.

“Fine.”


	18. Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : torture, drug use. This entire chapter is all torture and Shuichi being gross. Whoopsie.

Maki blinked uneasily, her smile falling. “Wait, you’re really going to let him?” It was obvious from her reaction that she hadn’t been expecting Shuichi to seriously honor the request, and she was mildly stupefied by his answer. The remnants of color were beginning to drain from Shuichi’s cheeks, like wax dripping off of a lit candle. He gnawed thoughtfully at the inside of his bottom lip as he nodded silently towards his partner. With one swift motion, Shuichi stood from his place on Kaede’s lap, and Kokichi felt his heart skipping again as he saw him shift through the items on top of the island. Did he need more tools than he already brought out? Maki remained, pressing Kaede’s wrists to the bed, waiting for further instruction.

Kaede’s breathing had slowed down, although her chest rose and fell dramatically as she tried to calm herself. Her body slid down a few inches without Shuichi’s presence forcing her up, and her weight shifted to her lower back, arms still held up above her by Maki’s strong grip. She looked exhausted, but other than the small, insignificant cut on her stomach, she was unharmed. The lace trimmings of her pink bra peeked from the fabric that remained of her shirt, curtaining over her breasts. A floral accoutrement to the bright line of red. The laceration was almost out of place among all the others — despite his better judgement, Kokichi found himself inspecting the rising mounds of taut skin under her chest. He didn’t know that Kaede self-harmed, never suspected that she had a reason to. The cuts were well-hidden in someplace he would never see; he probably wouldn’t have seen them at all if they weren’t in this situation.

He could only deliberate for a few moments before Shuichi gestured for him to come forward, a demanding curl of a finger in his direction. He shakily stood up, walking over to him through sheer willpower even as he felt Maki’s stare piercing him like needles. Shuichi hadn’t disturbed most of the troubling items on the counter, at least. The weapons remained where they were, with only the whiskey bottle brought forward. The detective opened his hand and brought out the other half of the orange pill Maki had taken earlier.

He placed the pill between his index and middle finger. He extended it out, a tacit command for Kokichi to open his mouth.

The boy hesitated for a moment, staring at the speck of orange. Was it actually okay to take it? He had no idea what that was or what it was supposed to do, and while it had a mild effect on Maki (as far as he knew, anyway), he didn’t have a baseline to gauge his own reaction to it. His experience with drugs other than the occasional over-the-counter painkiller was a flat zero, and he had never really drunk alcohol before either; the closest he had gotten was when his father let him take a sip of beer when he was sixteen, and the taste was so awful that he ran to the kitchen and spit it out in the sink.

He had dabbed his face with a paper towel as he returned, complaining, “Dad, that tastes like pee. How can you drink that?” And his father had laughed at him, told him he would like it better when he was older.

( _It felt so—o good._ )

Spurred by that memory, he opened his mouth.

Kokichi sucked around Shuichi’s fingers as they poked in, dislodging the pill and letting it travel back until he felt the sourness hit where his tongue ended and his pharynx began. It awkwardly lodged there, hard and bitter as Kokichi tried to swallow it dry. Shuichi pushed the spout of the whiskey bottle up to his lips, tilting it forward, and Kokichi tried to drink the smallest amount he could manage. An acrid liquid to wash down an equally unpalatable drug. The layers of acidity lingered even after everything was gone. He coughed to avoid gagging at the taste.

A thumb ran over Kokichi’s lips. “You’ll put anything in your mouth if I tell you to,” Shuichi snipped with amusement, and Kokichi felt his cheeks heat up with the perverse implications of his statement. He felt the urge to move his head forward and bite his hand, immediately thought of a thousand reasons why it would be a terrible idea.

Shuichi spoke up after a few seconds. “Get yourself ready.”

“Ready?” Kokichi questioned softly.

“Your shirt. And, you know, the hair.” Shuichi brushed his own hair to the side for clarification, and he knocked his head back to take a light nip of the whiskey for himself. In Kokichi’s periphery, he saw Maki smiling again, obviously pleased that Shuichi was partaking in her newest gift for him. A small victory in terms of the trust between them. The signs of approval she kept giving him made the situation feel more disconcerting than it already was.

Kokichi stared down at his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his new shirt. The fabric was trembling along with his hands as he worked down from the collar. He saw Shuichi’s feet shift slightly during his attempt, and he babbled out a hurried, “w-wait, hold on, I g-got it” as anxiety charged through his veins. When he managed the get the last of the buttons of his shirt undone, he shrugged it off of his shoulders and threw it to the side.

Shuichi gave a displeased sigh. “Ah, I gave that to you.”

“S-Sorry, I’ll, I can go get it —” Kokichi stammered out, but Shuichi dismissed him, waving his hand.

“No. Keep going.” The glass bottle clattered as it was set on the marble counter again. Kokichi briefly lost his train of thought with Shuichi’s interruption, forgetting what else he had to do until his gaze returned to Kaede. The blond was concentrating on her feet, legs splayed out in a V, knees slightly bent as she focused on anything other than her current predicament. Something glinted brightly in her light hair. Right, that was it — Kokichi stooped down and grabbed the package of hair clips next to her, hastily pushing his bangs towards his right ear and snapping the barrette into place. He gave a few gentle tugs to test how secure it was, something that Shuichi appeared to find funny judging by his developing smirk.

Shuichi made his way over to Kaede, haphazardly kicked her ankles apart. Her hands twitched as her feet spread out, the gap between her legs widening, skirt riding up her thighs. She gave a small huff as an objection, too tired to resist in any meaningful way. Shuichi’s foot stamped the newly opened space.

“On your back.”

Kokichi found himself hesitating again. When he said he would take Kaede’s place, he imagined that he would literally swap places with her, so what would be the point of keeping her there?

“You won’t hurt her, right?” Kokichi timidly asked. A sly smile snaked onto Shuichi’s face.

“If you don’t trust me, you can still back out.”

“N-no, I’m… I’m going.” He shuffled over to Kaede and laid down, carefully positioning himself between her legs. At this close of a distance, Kokichi could see the patches of dirt he missed when he was washing Kaede that morning, small tiles of filth on clean skin. He heard Shuichi moving above him, and he turned his head to see Shuichi kneel over him, his leg swinging over Kokichi’s hip bone. Shuichi sat on Kokichi’s legs like he had done to Kaede before. The weight distributed unevenly on his thighs as Shuichi’s weight pressed down on him, but he willed his brain to ignore the discomfort. The knife was in Shuichi’s hand again.

Ready yourself. Something terrible is about to happen.

The anticipation was somehow worse than the actual prospect of pain.

“Maki, you can let her go now.” Shuichi paused, running his tongue over his lips. “And Kaede can hold him down.”

“What? No!” Kaede protested loudly, voice cracking from the sudden increase in volume. Her arms crossed over her chest to cover herself when Maki released her. The brunette rose from the mattress, her shoulders wrapped in the blanket that had been strewn on the bed, and padded over to sit at Shuichi’s side. The room was as cold as ever, but she was sweating profusely. She swiped the blanket across her face to dry herself as she watched for Shuichi’s next move.

Shuichi pushed the edge of the knife to Kokichi’s neck, and he fought the urge to flinch away, recognizing that it was the blunt side that was shoved into him, hoping that his compliance would make his captor happy. Shuichi’s golden eyes rose up dangerously to meet Kaede’s resistance.

“Hold him down,” Shuichi repeated, “I’m not asking you.”

“No, th-this isn’t, this isn’t right —”

“Kaede,” Kokichi gently called out to her, and she stared down at him with her huge, fearful eyes. “It’s okay.”

“I _can’t_ , Kokichi, this is — you can’t do this —” Kaede whimpered as Kokichi reached for her arms, trying to slide his hands over hers. She kept shaking her head, and droplets of water fell on his cheeks as her eyes welled up with tears.

He could feel Shuichi’s patience dwindling as they spoke. The point of the knife was angling itself into him, pressing into his carotid.

“Please. It’s okay.” Kokichi rubbed her arms comfortingly, and his hands were oddly calm as he tried to soothe her. “I’ll be okay.”

“Are you deaf? Stop wasting our time and do it already!” Maki complained, high-pitched and sharp. Her leg rattled impatiently under the blanket.

Kaede paled as the other girl stared her down. She finally relented, shoving Kokichi’s wrists flat against the floor above his head.

“Hold onto him properly. Or else,” Shuichi paused, “My hand might slip.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing forward more. Kokichi felt his arms throb with his fluttering pulse as she tightened her grip. She made a final, shaking appeal, “Shuichi, don’t. Don’t do this.”

“No one wants to hear you talk,” Maki barked, but Shuichi seemed to ignore both of them, the knife moving from Kokichi’s neck to his chest. Kokichi shivered as the flat side of the blade pressed into his skin. He wanted to move himself away from it, discomforted by the chill of metal, but he instinctively recognized that it would be a bad idea. His mind tried to hype itself up with meaningless phrases now that the weapon was so close to him: you can do it, hang in there, it’ll be over in a few minutes. The knife lifted, and the cutting edge grinned at the skin between his ribs. Kokichi sucked in a breath, closed his eyes in preparation.

But it didn’t cut him.

“Are you in love with Kaede?”

“What?” Kokichi’s eyes snapped open, so quickly that they almost clicked like a ventriloquist’s dummy. He saw both Kaede and Shuichi above him, Kaede looking flustered while Shuichi remained composed. 

“Do you love her?” he asked again.

“Not, um, not romantically? We’re just friends,” Kokichi stammered out a response, and a smile crept onto Shuichi’s face, eyes narrowing as if he caught him in a blatant lie.

“Friends? This isn’t something you would do for a friend, though,” Shuichi mused. “I think I’m starting to understand.”

The knife moved down, hovering over Kokichi’s stomach. He twitched as the cold metal grazed him.

“I’ve seen this happen before. I get it now. All that rottenness inside of you,” Shuichi spoke as the knife lowered, and Kokichi saw his skin split cleanly under the sharp blade. He watched his blood slowly bubble up around him, staining silver with scarlet, thinking it was odd that he didn’t feel anything when it happened. “It comes from her. She wormed her way into you too.”

“What…?” Kaede’s face crumpled, a mixture of confusion and hurt. Kokichi felt a weird twinge of pity, sensing that she had even less of an understanding of what was going on than he did.

Shuichi spread open the shallow wound with his fingers, and a stinging sensation cascaded through him as his nerves were exposed to the air. Kokichi let out a pained hiss as the knife dug deeper into the cut before it lifted, a thin trail of blood drooling off the metal. The cut itched. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kokichi squirmed uncomfortably. Shuichi was swiping his finger over the cut, leaving a smear of red on his skin. The finger popped into his mouth.

“You don’t have to know. I already told you, I’ll empty you out, then I’ll fill you back in. It’ll fix you,” Shuichi mumbled around the obstruction, irises reducing to waning crescent moons as his lids lowered. The finger came out of his mouth clean and slick with spit. “So, thank me. It’s only polite.” His focus was completely on the boy below him, lashes coming down like blinds.

“Th-thank you,” Kokichi pushed out, eyes wandering, feeling the bile rising in the back of his throat as his heartbeat quickened.

“Say it again.” Shuichi opened the cap to the canister of salt, dipped his finger into the mound of white crystals inside.

Kokichi inhaled through his nose, chest expanding with air as he tried to calm himself down. “Thank you.”

“Kokichi really is a good boy,” Shuichi purred, and he hooked his salt-coated fingernail into his wound.

 

 

 

Something in gray scale. A much younger version of himself was whining loudly, babyish hands curled into fists as he watched his father uncork a wine bottle with an olive sheen. His mother held out a clean, glittering wine glass, and he found himself mesmerized by the _glug glug_ of the scarlet that flowed from the bottle’s long neck. His cheeks bounced as he tapped his hands on the table, the impact muted by the white tablecloth. “Mom, I wanna try! Lemme try!”

“You’re too young to drink this,” his mother cooed at him. He stuck out his lip in the most magnificent pout he could manage, and the liquid moved with her as she suppressed a rattling chuckle. “No, don’t make that face at me, it’s not going to work!” He inched closer to her, eyes widening, but he could also feel a giggle encroaching on him as he saw his mother laugh harder. “No! Honey, help me! He’s a monster!”

His father set the bottle down and hoisted him up in his warm arms, and he wiggled his tiny feet as the carpet distanced itself from him. He grasped onto his father’s shirt collar, head leaning on his shoulder. His skin smelled faintly of cologne.

“How about we get you the same cup for now, buddy? Then you can drink with us,” his father suggested. He brightened at the thought, bobbing his head up and down.

“Yeah, yeah!” He squealed in delight as his father opened up the cupboard, and in his excitement he reached out for the crystalline glass glimmering in the dark, fingers stubby and clumsy. He grabbed it, and it was heavier than he expected, slipping through his palms.

In that moment, he watched it fall in slow motion, glass whistling through the air. Twisting and turning.

Flickering like a mirage.

The stem was about to shatter.

 

 

 

Kokichi’s head struck the floor as he threw it backwards, a shocked gasp choking out of his throat. 

Shuichi’s finger probed into him, making his nerves snap and shriek. The salt burnt. It was crawling over him like a swarm of angry ants.

The lights swayed in his vision as the nail wiggled inside of him, ripping his wound open further, tearing open skin and meat. It felt so much worse than before — the knife had been clean and virtually painless, but Shuichi’s finger scissoring into him made the cuts ragged, and he could feel the granules of salt melting into his body from the heat, diffusing straight into his blood. Every inch of his torso vibrated with panic. His flesh was sizzling like he had fire pushed into him, cooking his body from the inside.

“Oh my god, _oh my god_ ,” he heard himself chanting as the knife was picked back up. His face was hot. Everything was hot. Sweat and tears trickled down his cheeks. The blade was sawing another cut into him, horizontally above his rib cage, but he could barely feel it despite it being deeper, bleeding faster. His hands clenched, trying to redirect the pain elsewhere, arms shaking under Kaede’s hold. Shuichi was putting his hand back into the salt.

“K-Kokichi — !” Kaede’s voice shrilled above him, loud in his ears as his body quaked, and the air from an attempted scream struggled out of him as Shuichi pushed his nails into the fresh wound, letting the blood leak over his hand until all of the pale crescent indents were stained with red. The cuts thrummed, hot and bright, never faltering. An iron brand. Flames licking into the fat of his body. Through a blur, he could see Maki peering down on him, face twisted in some kind of evil glee, blinked through his tears and saw Shuichi’s flushed face tilting blissfully.

“Again,” he heard Shuichi saying between his own desperate gasps for air, felt his nails scratch at the soft tissue, poking through him like a plastic straw through a drink lid. His entire body seized as he felt another cut split him open, set on fire as the salt seasoned his flesh again. His legs spasmed uselessly.

“No, no, no, hurts,” he sobbed out, feeling his head throb, inhaling huge bursts of oxygen as his body tried to remember how to function, “I can’t, I can’t breathe —”

“Again,” Shuichi repeated sternly. 

The knife tallied the spaces between his ribs like they were a solvable maze. He blinked the tears out again, felt it run down into his mouth wet with saliva, salt. He looked down at his torso and couldn’t tell which parts were sweat and which parts were blood. The salt gathered in piles on him, clumping together in disgusting half-dissolved masses, red and white. “Kokichi, again. Say it _again._ ”

“Ghh —” he gurgled as the knife swiped on him, the cutting less merciful than before, gashes singing crescendo. He was starting to feel really light-headed. His hands wrung open and closed over and over again. What did Shuichi want? He couldn’t remember. What was he supposed to say? 

“ _Again, Kokichi, say it again!_ ” Manic eyes. Venom. Oozing gasoline. White baring teeth. Maki was chewing her own nails, crazed with enjoyment.

He tore through his lip with his teeth as Shuichi felt inside of his cuts again, trying to mute the shriek that burst in him, slammed a fist into the ground to numb the pain out. It wasn’t until Kokichi grabbed at Shuichi’s shoulders, desperately trying to push him away, that they both noticed Kaede had let him go. She had completely turned away from them, burying her face into the mattress behind her. Her body shook, gripping the bed frame hard.

“Kaede.” Shuichi’s voice abruptly calmed. Kaede shook her head violently.

“No, I can’t, I’m gonna puke, I can’t do it, I can’t watch,” she spoke, muffled by cotton and fabric. Shuichi’s eyes narrowed.

“Kaede —”

“Shuichi! It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kokichi found himself gripping the detective’s hands, and the other rolled his eyes down to look at him. “Y-you don’t need her, I can stay still, I promise, so…”

There was a silence, and then Shuichi wordlessly lowered himself down to his ear. His left hand spread open on Kokichi’s chest, sticky with salt, heaving up and down with tortured breaths. It was hot. His hand was so hot, Kokichi thought it would melt through his bones until it tunneled its way through him completely, coming out the other side of his body.

“You really want to save her?” Shuichi whispered. “You would do anything?”

Kokichi’s hair bobbed as he nodded. He thought the lights looked brighter, something he didn’t know was possible. The pain on his torso muted, a decrescendo, the burning reduced to a buzz on his skin, a light vibration on every cut. Shuichi lifted, and he was looking at him, warm honeyed eyes. Kokichi felt warm. He watched Shuichi wipe down the knife with the hand towel.

“Is that, is that enough?” Kokichi stammered out, his muscles loosening, surrounded by a feeling of calm unusual for his situation. “Shuichi is satisfied?”

Shuichi stared down at him, smiling. His smile was so soft looking. It felt like something had shifted back into place, and he was seeing a Shuichi that Kaede was only privy to, even if he was fictional — a caring, loving person. Someone who would make trips to the drugstore when he was sick, someone who would hold his hands during the winter when he complained about being cold.

It’s fake, Kokichi told himself, that nice, loving version of Shuichi doesn’t exist. But a weird trickling wave of pleasure worked its way up his throat. The other boy was staring at him curiously.

“To save Kaede,” Shuichi began, “would you stay here?”

Kokichi nodded enthusiastically, not even really thinking about the implications of the question before he agreed. He somehow felt like he could. Save Kaede, stay here forever until he died.

“Would you have sex with me?” Shuichi’s eyelids lowered dangerously, but Kokichi felt that rising pleasure fall over him and he nodded again. Shuichi tossed the knife away with a clatter, hands gripping Kokichi’s arms, squeezing them into his ribs. The buzzing in him grew louder as he lifted up slightly off the ground. The voice was in his ear again.

“Would you kill someone for her?”

“No,” Kokichi said honestly.

Shuichi dropped him back onto the ground. Kokichi felt himself melting into the floor.

“Then you must not love her.” Shuichi smiled. “I emptied you out.”


	19. Being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psst, I have a discord now: henkitry#5788
> 
> feel free to send me a dm ~

The lights were definitely getting brighter. 

Kokichi found that even when he looked away, their scorched ghosts would follow his vision everywhere. When he next looked to Shuichi, his visage was imprinted with the remnants of those discolored lights, waving and dissipating like firecrackers. The other male wasn’t bothered by his staring at all. He was too absorbed in his task, the dark case of hydrogen peroxide slanting into a folded square of paper towel, liquid fizzing as it scrubbed over his wounds; every time he wiped another one down, Kokichi gave a sharp exhale. He was aware that the process would’ve hurt more if the drug hadn’t numbed him down, and he was depressingly grateful that he took it when Shuichi offered it to him. 

Nearby, Maki was slowly putting the tools away into the cabinets of the island, thoughtfully organizing them. The bag of pills and the whiskey were the only items she didn’t tuck away.

Bandages lifted from their paper trappings. Shuichi covered up the gashes he made, letting the adhesive stick smoothly on Kokichi’s skin. The padding was already speckling with residual blood. Thin arms brought his chest up as he was wrapped up in gauze. This scene felt like a morbid version of his dream, the one where he couldn’t move himself off the ground no matter what, at the mercy of others who had no qualms about throwing his body around. But he somehow had lost the desire to move away from his captors to begin with. He wanted to merge with the ground and concentrate on the euphoria that was clutching his brain. He willingly submerged himself down to a deep sea where nothing bad could touch him. His body was silent.

When the last of the bandages were secured, Shuichi reached to undo the barrette, and Kokichi unthinkingly nuzzled up against his hand, rubbing a red-stained cheek into his palm. The hand stopped for a moment, and then it slowly cupped itself into place like a clay mold. Shuichi thumbed at Kokichi’s lips again, testing their pliancy under the pad of his finger. Kokichi felt himself start to sweat, condensation beading under his neck, and he worried the hand would go away because of it. A meaningless worry, unfitting of the situation, but he found himself starved for touch anyway.

Maki came to view as she walked to Shuichi’s side with a dreamy smile.

“Look at his eyes,” she said, an outstretched finger pointed towards him, “It’s hitting him really hard.”

“Could you get some water from the fridge?” Shuichi requested, and Maki gave a nod as she turned and exited. The door knocked into place behind her swaying form, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Kokichi let out a low noise of complaint as Shuichi retracted his hand. It slithered back to pat the ground in front of him, between his legs.

“C’mere and sit up.” The command was gentle.

Kokichi tried, shaking as he pushed himself off the ground, and he winced as he felt a hushed shock of pain shoot through him when he moved. Arms hooked under his shoulders when he faltered, and Shuichi pulled him close, pressing his back into a firm hug until the smaller boy found his bearings and leaned back into him. His ear lightly grazed on Shuichi’s chin.

Kaede had turned to face them after being frozen in her previous position for some time. Her wide eyes betrayed her exceeding concern for him, something he weirdly didn’t feel for himself. She looked brilliant and sharp, her matching hair clip shining underneath strands of straw hair. A wet, pink mouth to match her wet, pink eyes.

In dim consciousness, he thought Shuichi’s skin was ridiculously smooth, like a warmly ocean-washed stone.

“What did you make him take?” Kaede’s voice was warped somehow. Kokichi knew it didn’t sound like that before.

“It's just MDMA,” Shuichi responded simply, dabbing at Kokichi’s hairline with the hand towel. He took care to avoid the smears of blood that were left on the cotton as he wiped away Kokichi’s sweat, and Kaede said nothing for a bit, staring, paralyzed by a lack of knowledge. She had gotten her answer, but she didn’t know what it meant.

The door opened again. Maki dangled a water bottle in the air above Shuichi’s shoulder. Kokichi could feel the cold radiating to where he sat, became increasingly aware of how high his body temperature was. Water sounded like a great savior from the unrelenting heat in his core — he reached for it only for Shuichi to snatch it away.

Kokichi whined as his arms folded over his bandaged body. The bottle pressed onto the side of his neck, and he shivered violently as the chill darted through his skin.

“No hands. Open your mouth.” Shuichi almost sounded like he was scolding him. Kokichi tilted his head back onto Shuichi’s shoulder, opening his mouth a crack as Shuichi uncapped the bottle and pressed it to his lips. The plastic crunched under pressure as he drank from it with large gulps. His brain almost froze with how cool the water was. His teeth ached. A stream of liquid that escaped him ran down his chin, and he shivered again as it soaked into the gauze wrappings.

He drank about half before the bottle lowered. Kokichi wiped at the lower half of his face, gasping for air. Maki shuffled behind him, having gathered the shirt and metal cuffs, setting them down to Shuichi’s left.

“What does that do?” Kaede asked hesitantly, as if she didn’t want to know the answer, only asking out of necessity.

“Makes you feel a—all good,” Maki said, and Kokichi thought everyone’s voice had changed. He could almost visualize the way they sounded if he focused hard enough. Shuichi’s was a smoky dulcet hum, white, heavy mist pouring from his mouth. Kaede’s was high-pitched and clarion, like someone rang hand bells at every word. Maki’s sounded creamy, her tongue smearing thick paint on a canvas like a palette knife.

Kokichi fumbled as Shuichi pushed him forward, his arms limp as the other redressed him in the button up. It was a slow process. His muscles were too loose, difficult to accurately place into the sleeves. Shuichi ended up yanking the shirt upwards some, growing more violent in his impatience. The cotton felt cool at first, but Kokichi soon felt new drops of sweat forming on his forehead as Shuichi finally locked the cuffs back on him.

“Do you feel good?” Shuichi’s whisper tickled the curves of his ear. Kokichi gave a feeble nod of confirmation, eyes closing, wanting to lean back again. He wanted to envelop himself in the other’s warmth, drown out the pulsing itch of his cuts under the gauze. He tried to move, only to have Shuichi’s hands hold him in place as he planted a kiss on the back of his neck. A pleased moan slipped from him as he felt the heat spread outward. It was so hot. Shuichi’s mouth opened, tongue running flat over blushing skin. He sucked the skin in between his teeth and closed his mouth in a delicate bite, and Kokichi gasped louder than he thought he would, squirming as hands traveled down his back.

“See? Isn’t he cute?” Shuichi goaded. Kokichi opened his eyes, blearily saw Kaede looking at them, her expression like she was seeing something indescribable. He felt a brief jolt of shame that was washed over by the wetness of Shuichi opening his mouth again. Teeth nipped at the base of his neck. His cheeks were burning as his breaths turned shallow. In a haze of pleasure, Kokichi recognized how disgusting he must look, scarred and sweating, wiggling in a killer’s grip, felt a weird pang of humiliation that faded away as soon as it came.

Kaede crawled back onto the bed, seeking to distance herself as much as she could. “You’re sick.”

“What happened to ‘I love you’?”

“Why are you doing this?” Kaede whispered, voice strained, nails digging into the mattress under her.

Shuichi stopped in his movements and stood. Kokichi let himself lower to the floor, rolling onto his back so he could still see everyone. Shuichi’s gaze had hardened. Even in his high, he couldn’t see his face as anything other than pure spite.

“I already told you. It’s revenge.”

“Revenge for what? What did I do?” Kaede started looking like she might cry. The words struggled out of her. Shuichi was silent, and there was a swaying of black hair as Maki stood next to him, twisting herself onto his arm, fingers interlacing with his. He barely glanced at her.

“She’s too stupid to know what she did wrong,” Maki said teasingly, lashes quivering, “Can’t I tell her?”

“You can give her a hint,” Shuichi said. The other jumped at his agreement. Glossy lips shining, eyeliner smeared.

“The list of people Shuichi’s killed in this room!” Maki held up her fist. “Tsumugi first. Cat cafe.” Her index finger unfurled. “Angie second. Church.” Middle finger. “Himiko third. Public library.” Ring finger. “Rantaro last.” Pinky finger.

She stopped there, giving no explanation for Shuichi’s last victim. It didn’t seem like Kaede noticed the change in pattern. Recognition bloomed on her face.

“Rantaro?” Kaede repeated, her already white skin paling further. “So the serial killer on the news, that’s, that’s you? You — you killed Rantaro?”

“I didn’t _just_ kill him. I made him beautiful,” Shuichi breathed out, cheeks flushing again, and his hand squeezed Maki’s as he spoke. Kaede’s eyes flooded with tears, a steady torrent flowing down her face, not bothering to wipe them away as she continued to stare at the pair in front of her. Her voice cracked as she searched for words to say, falling speechless at every possibility.

“You’re… lying,” Kaede said hoarsely.

Shuichi gave a sigh, sounding disappointed in Kaede’s eventual answer.

“There’s no way.” Her words started raising in pitch, teetering on the edge of hysteria. “Shuichi, you’re lying to me, I _know_ you. There’s no way you could’ve…”

“He’s not lying.” Maki snarked. Kaede cast her gaze to the floor, shifting wildly, needing to move but unable to will herself to under her paralyzing glare. Maki gave a vicious grin. “If you’re sad, just go cut yourself again. That’s all you’re good for here.”

“If he’s not lying, then — then that’s not Shuichi!” Kaede shrieked. The loud noise brought a bolt of lucidity to Kokichi’s drugged haze. The pained, piercing scream resonated in him. “You’re not him, you’re — _you’re a monster!_ ”

Shuichi was beginning to look exasperated, like he had been told a joke he quickly found himself growing tired of. He brought his foot down hard on Kokichi’s outstretched arm, and the smaller boy gave a surprised yelp as he felt the pressure suddenly increase, twitching in reaction, a dull pain radiating through him. There was a frenzied clanging of chains as Kaede jumped forward.

“ _Stop!_ Don’t hurt him anymore! Get away from him!” She was on the floor again, trying to tug herself closer even as the chain was pulled taut. 

“Listen to me.” Shuichi spoke evenly, completely in control. Kaede silenced, attention snared. “I’ll give you the night to think about it. If you can’t remember and apologize for what you did by the time I come back, then Kokichi and I’ll have more fun together.”

He released Maki’s hand and knelt down by the other male. Kokichi stared at him as his head leaned down, dark hair framing delicate features.

“What if she remembers?” Kokichi asked softly.

“She won’t.” The detective smiled. “I’m leaving now. Kiss goodbye?”

Kokichi raised his head and messily pushed his lips against Shuichi’s, letting his body stoop back to the floor after they touched. Shuichi stood again, walking to the door with Maki in tow.

“No, no,” Kaede cried as she pulled on her chain again, “Please, I have no idea what you’re talking about —”

“Figure it out,” Shuichi said, turning away. 

Kokichi thought he saw Maki glaring down at him, her typical manic smile faltering before the door closed.

 

 

 

“Kokichi, are you okay?” Kaede spoke up as her breathing calmed. It had been anywhere between a few minutes to an hour since Shuichi and Maki had left. Kokichi wasn’t sure, couldn’t tell when the ecstasy thrummed in his head. He got up regardless, crawled over to close their gap before answering.

“Yeah,” he said once he made his way over, collapsing again on the ground, “Are you okay?”

Kaede nodded rapidly. She put her hand on his, clasping it tightly. Warm. “God. I’m sorry. Does that hurt a lot? Wait, that’s a stupid question, sorry — I just. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad anymore,” Kokichi mumbled into concrete. Tears were starting to fill up Kaede’s eyes again.

A shuddering breath. “How… how long have you been here?”

“A week or something,” Kokichi said, trying to think and finding it to be too much effort.

“Are there people looking for us?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think they’ll find us?” Kaede sniffled.

“Yes,” he said. He wondered if he was lying when he said this. He had already forgotten about the police a long time ago, having no method to track their investigation. Kokichi let his gaze rest on the old cuts on Kaede’s chest, her shirt splayed open as she hunched next to him.

“Sorry, this is so — so crazy, I’m so sorry.” She wiped at her face, her sleeves wet as the tears replaced themselves. “Sh-Shuichi — I don’t know what he’s talking about. Please believe me. This is — sorry. I’m such a moron. Sorry. Sorry.”

“No.” Kokichi shook his head vigorously. “It’s not your fault.” Kaede looked elsewhere, not meeting his gaze as he tried to comfort her. There were no words exchanged until Kokichi remembered suddenly — “Who’s Rantaro?”

“Uh, he’s… he was my boyfriend,” Kaede said, an eeking whimper, “God, I saw Shuichi at his funeral. He said they were friends.”

“Was this before we met?” Kokichi frowned. He couldn’t remember a moment where Kaede had been dating anyone.

“No, I just never — never told anyone. We kept it a secret, he asked me to, but, I mean, we only dated for a week anyway before he …” Kaede buried her face in her hands. Trying to comfort her, Kokichi scooted closer and pressed his cheek on her knee. She peered at him through her fingers, eyes moist and bloodshot.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, curling his body around her protectively. He wanted to sit up, but after writhing around in his restraints, he found he was too weak to push against the ground like he normally would. Kaede grabbed the blanket instead, discarded a few feet away, laid herself on the ground next to Kokichi so they were face to face. The blanket draped over both of them. Extra soft. He wondered if it the blanket was actually this ridiculously soft or if it was the drug tricking him — but it didn’t really matter.

He looked at Kaede, her skin blotchy red from where she had furiously rubbed at her face. A tangled knot of hair clumped near her right ear. 

He thought she was beautiful.

Her eyes moved over him, in search of something. A trembling inhale. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Kokichi asked. Kaede’s hand touched under his ear, his brow furrowed in concern, and he realized he had been clenching his jaw hard. Sliding his tongue between teeth, he consciously loosened it. Her expression relaxed as he did, turning sorrowful with a hint of confusion.

“Why did you say you were going to take my place?”

Oh, right. He was tired just being asked the question. The topic was something he didn’t want to acknowledge he did, much less analyze.

His eyes closed, exhausted. His mood was becoming tempered, evening out in a battle between the highs and lows. “Because, you can’t die.”

“You can’t die either!” Kaede whispered urgently. Kokichi shook his head.

“It’s not the same.”

“What?”

“B-Because,” Kokichi found himself stuttering. In spite of the elation that had been swimming in him from the drug, he started to cry. He cried without feeling sadness, empty tears that his body produced from somewhere deeper in him. “You and Kaito are the only ones left. S-so, if you die, I’m never gonna get out of here. I’m gonna give up.”

Kaede stared at him in shock. “What are you saying? Why — why are you — ”

“Because it hurts,” he groaned, crying harder, feeling the sadness start to trickle into him, tainting the pool of everything good that his mind floated in. “It hurts so bad. I thought — when we were all together, I was so happy. But then, Shuichi — and then Maki — maybe even Kaito’s in on it or something, maybe that’s why they’re dating, I don’t know —” A shaky inhale. “So you can’t die, you can’t leave me alone with them. I’m gonna hold on until you’re better, and even if I die, you can still run away, or you’ll have enough time for someone to find you —”

“Kokichi, stop,” Kaede said, her hands cupping around his face.

“He killed my parents.” Kokichi barely felt the way her hands tensed. “He won’t stop talking about it. He took their wedding rings and everything, that’s how I found out. I’m so scared. He doesn’t care, he’s crazy. The stuff I read about what he does — it’s —” His breaths were turning shallow again. “I don’t have anyone except you. So don’t die. Don’t leave me alone.”

Kaede hugged him tightly to her, and he was blinded as his face was pushed to the nape of her neck. She whispered out a rough “okay”.

Kokichi wept freely, feeling something shatter in him. Something absolute, something overwrought with misery, something rotten. He felt his face growing sore as the tears slid down his skin, scraped and ugly from the earlier torture. He couldn’t stop. A headache was spreading through his skull, blood pounding against it, brain swelling, heightening pressure as mucus blocked his nose. His breathing turned rapid as he desperately huffed, air escaping him.

Kaede distanced herself, still looking on with concern. Kokichi tipped forward, muscles clenching as he tried to calm down. Hyperventilation was creeping up on him hard, choking him. It was fast, but more importantly, it was too strained, like the breaths he could take weren’t enough to keep him afloat. He was sinking. Darkness crawling around him. He was a balloon inflating until he was going to pop. He tasted salt from his tears and thought he was going to vomit if he didn’t pass out first.

Suddenly he was being pushed onto his back and Kaede’s mouth clamped over his, her breath filling up his lungs, Kokichi sucking the air eagerly into himself, ribcage expanding. She inhaled through her nose and pushed air into him again before she parted from him.

Kokichi exhaled fast to get that uncomfortable fullness out of his chest. His heart stuttered for a few beats, but his breathing returned to normal. As normal as he could be expected to get it. He wished he could wipe away his tears. He wished Kaede wouldn’t look at him with that worried stare. He wished he was home in bed.

“Kokichi, we’ll get out together,” Kaede said, putting on her bravest smile, “I won’t leave you behind.”

Kaede pulled him back into the hug, didn’t let go. Kokichi thought he would cry again. He buried his face into her shoulder and fell asleep.


	20. Alone,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : more graphic torture in this chapter, please use caution before reading

Kokichi was the first to wake up, nested in a whirlpool of blond hair, forehead touching the crook of Kaede’s neck. The process was steady, less panicked than when he would wake up alone. The presence of another person nearby calmed him considerably. He forgot the situation he was in, basking in the calmness provided by the thick blanket and the arm heavily draped over his upper body.

He took a few slow blinks. His senses seemed to have settled, something he established as he looked to the silver-coated ceiling. The lights were no longer ethereally glowing; they remained bright, but not bright enough that they seared his vision with a second of contact. The drug must have worn off. That would imply that they had been asleep for at least a few hours. He still felt a bit drowsy, but it wasn’t any worse than what he was normally used to.

Focused on his sobriety, Kokichi didn’t recall the other events of the day before until he moved to cuddle close to Kaede. Movement set off an anguished signal in his torso, the ache blossoming sharply and steadily withering when he stilled with a hiss. He stayed frozen within that pulsing pain until he decided he wanted to move closer anyway, and he shoved himself towards her, barreling through the stinging itch that rose under his bandages. He needed her warmth, liked it better compared to the radiating heat Shuichi gave off during his high from the night before. Shuichi burned like a celestial being; Kaede felt like a real person.

Prompted by his closeness, Kaede squeezed him in a small hug, half-asleep. Fingers tangled through his hair, kneading his scalp, a pleasant massage. The intimate exchange was too out of place for the situation they were in, huddled together on a cold cement floor of a room where four other people had died. It was incomprehensible to him that those events had occurred at the same place anyway. The concept of death, against all odds, maintained its foreignness.

His body was too damaged to move without sending sparks of pain through him. He nuzzled under her chin instead, wanting to reciprocate the touch, unable to do much with the cuffs locked onto his arms. Kaede angled her head up and opened her eyes, first lethargically like she was waking from a disorienting afternoon nap, then quickly as she focused on something behind him. She scrambled up to a sitting position, the blanket falling off of her, and, upon feeling the cold air hit her chest, grabbed at her split shirt to cover herself.

Kokichi rolled over to see what she saw, wincing as his cuts complained.

Maki sat in the desk chair. She looked at them curiously.

Shuichi wasn’t anywhere to be seen; she was alone. Kokichi felt the familiar prickling sensation rise up in him, her stare raining thin needles into his spine. Maki’s normal facade hid such a deathly glare. It was a feat that she was able to hide her maliciousness whenever they had been in close proximity, and it was his downfall that his subconscious never picked up on any warning signs she may have shown. The idea that she was following him for the past few months with that same look she was giving him now — it scared the hell out of him.

She had thrown on a baggy gray t-shirt, tucked haphazardly a short pleated skirt that was safety pinned at the waist. The band was probably too wide for her and had to be shortened before she could walk around without it falling to her ankles. Poorly hid fury coated her, but her anger was cheeky, lips curled into a smirk. Without the gloss, her lips looked soft, a rosy leather texture.

“ _We’re just friends_ ,” she sang, her mocking voice echoing lightly. She rose to her feet. Kaede put out her arms as a flimsy barrier between them, a weak request to stop.

“W-wait, please, we, we can talk,” Kaede said, power behind her words crumbling as she stuttered. Maki put one foot in front of the other, a decisive step forward, expression unfazed, unchanged. Kaede tried again, “Just don’t — don’t hurt us.”

“I’m not here to hurt you.” Another foot forward, closing the distance between them. “We can talk.”

As she stepped towards them again, the two captives shared a cautious silence. Kokichi felt Kaede grip onto the upper section of his sleeve, tightly tensed as though she was preparing to run, dragging him on the floor behind her. Maki stopped in her tracks a few inches from Kokichi’s place on the ground, and he fell silent as she looked down on him. Her hands clasped over the swell of her chest, fidgeting nervously.

“Shuichi made dinner last night,” Maki said steadily, as though she was worried that by saying it aloud, it would cease to be true. “Curry tonkatsu. He’s a good cook. I’ve seen him cook before, but I never ate his food until yesterday. Has he ever made food for you?”

The question was directed at Kaede. The blond murmured a slightly peeved “no” in response. Maki’s grin stretched wider.

“We stayed the night, and, th-there’s only one bed upstairs.” She gave a deep inhale. “So we got to sleep together, and he had the cutest bed head when he woke up, like in a messy but attractive way.” She reddened. “I got to use his shower and his soap. He uses expensive shampoo, I’ve seen him shopping. It’s at least twenty dollars a bottle. It smells like roses. It must be high quality since his skin is so soft and pretty.”

She started fanning herself as she continued, her face deeply rouged.

“I can’t — I’ve never been this close to him while he’s awake. He’s so gorgeous. I’m really… I’m so happy,” she gushed, hiding herself behind her hands, “I thought the amusement park would be the closest I ever got to him, but this is totally different. Isn’t this dangerous? I’m really in love with him. Hey — hey, Kaede? Do you remember what you did wrong?”

Maki gazed at the aforementioned girl. Kaede froze.

“No… I have no idea,” the blond admitted, and Maki’s head tilted, choppy hair loosely following, expression ecstatic with her answer.

“ _Good_ ,” Maki whispered, pleased, “That means I get more time with him like this. I’m so happy. Don’t you dare remember anything. Don’t ruin this for me. Just be stupid forever.”

“Why did you bother with Kaito if you liked Shuichi so much?” Kokichi said without thinking, powered by spite, followed by immediate regret. But he had snagged Maki’s attention, and she didn’t seem upset that he had asked the question. On the contrary, her expression blanked into that neutral stare Shuichi often had when he was thinking.

“Kaito was just an advantage,” she shrugged. Kokichi felt a deep pity for Kaito solidifying in his stomach. “He was the one who asked me out, and I couldn’t risk him distancing himself. He’d give me updates on what was happening so I could time my notes properly when you were at school. If he said you weren’t there or whatever, then I wouldn’t bother skipping class to show up.”

Her hands moved in front of her chest, where her previously long hair would be, and they stopped short as she realized her hair no longer extended that far. They lifted to twist a lock of hair beside her chin instead. “He wasn’t a bad guy, though. A real romantic.”

“I didn’t even know you and Shuichi knew each other before the sleepover,” Kaede muttered, a catty edge to her voice that made Kokichi antsy. The last thing they needed was to fight with the people keeping them here, much less the more obscenely violent of the two. Maki looked elsewhere again, seeming upset at something other than Kaede’s snippy tone.

“We didn’t know _each other_. I knew _him_. Dad kept us separate. I didn’t think Shuichi even remembered who I was when I told him.” Maki sounded strangely melancholy.

There was a silence, no one knowing quite what to do or say, and Maki shifted with a newfound awkwardness at the attention. Kokichi wanted to press her for more, oddly intrigued by her vague clues, hoping it could lead to some revelation about her psyche. With Shuichi and Maki holding all the cards, the only advantage Kokichi held was information that could catch them by surprise. But he lacked the courage to ask anything.

Kaede gripped onto his shirt harder. He could sense she was trembling. Maki stared into the distance. Her mouth was moving, even though she wasn’t speaking any words. ‘ _Just this, just this is enough, right, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m so, so lucky just to be here, around him, I can’t ask for more, I would, would mess things up somehow, Shuichi, Shuichi, Shuichi, Shuichi_ —’

Kokichi remained silent, watching her lips, not sure how to react to her rambling. He couldn’t process what she had actually said out loud, and holding onto the words she was mouthing was impossible. It was too baffling. He waited for her to keep speaking on her own, but she dithered silently, giving away no more information.

He remembered when he was kidnapped, how he was so sure that Shuichi had been the stalker when he felt his eyes on him. He was sure that the eyes that had been following him had been his. But being faced with Maki and how her gaze destroyed him, he had been doubly sure that she was the correct person. There was no doubt that their eyes were similar. Despite presenting themselves as two different individuals, scampering busily in completely separate spheres of reality, they maintained their similarities well.

Their cruel grins. Their excited, flushed faces. Flexing hands constantly on the run.

Their cold eyes, the way they looked at Kokichi, like a carcass inviting them to feast.

A lump of anxiety lodged itself into his sternum. He wanted them to go away. He wanted to never see them or their terrible, wordless stares every again.

Maki’s voice floated through her moving lips.

“Shuichi, he… really likes my present, so why am I so mad about it?” A sullen question to no one but herself.

Something else they had in common: that off switch that launched away their consciousness, speaking in the present but warping somewhere far away on a lost memory or a train of thought. Only urgent matters could bring them back. Red eyes transfixed on a dark stain on the floor, an unpleasant trace of the previous day’s events. Volume lowering to a near silence, Kokichi strained to hear the last words she spoke.

“Well, after today, maybe it won't be a problem.”

_Please, for the love of God, just leave._ He wanted to screech at her. She wasn’t doing anything to him directly, she wasn’t even really talking to him, but he still felt that terrible fear from her presence. _I want to go back to sleep, I want to go back to being alone._

As if by his will, Maki turned slowly, the loose skirt swaying its circumference around her legs, and she left the room.

Kaede’s fist unfurled, a curt sigh of relief. The immediate tension escaped, but the two left behind were still shaking.

 

 

 

 

They remained silent, having little to do but wait for the others’ next moves. Kaede being next to him was a comfort by itself, and she said nothing from a sheer realization that there were no other comforting words she could’ve given her friend. Or perhaps there were, and they were both too tired to find them — as the sleep rejuvenated them, Maki conversely took it away. Time passed listlessly. Kaede massaged his arms to prevent them from falling asleep, an annoyingly common development with the binds restrictive as they were.

The next instance the door opened, it had been them both.

Shuichi and Maki entered as a pair, a new change of clothes, laundered and clean. Maki was strung onto Shuichi again, trailing behind him, her hand on his.

Once fully in the room, Shuichi shook off her grip and made his way over to the two on the floor. Kokichi clung close to Kaede, his head resting on her lap as she sat at the foot of the bed, the blanket tossed over his lower body. Attentive eyes raised as Shuichi came forward. 

He was awaiting judgment. He hadn’t expected to see such unbridled dissatisfaction from the detective.

“You have some nerve,” Shuichi mumbled, gaze darkening, eyes already locked in that half-lidded stupor, “I do you a favor and you go right back to her.”

“Sh-Shuichi, please,” Kaede began, only for her mouth to glue back together as Shuichi held a finger up to his lips. Yellow eyes flicked back and forth between them. Kokichi recognized that his stare wasn’t laced with the rage he was used to seeing from him — it was something else, some emotion that he couldn’t pinpoint. A foreboding mixture of something, a devastating, toxic concoction of unknowns.

Shuichi’s gaze settled on the blond for a few seconds. “Kaede. Do you remember?”

Kaede stared back at him, too afraid of the consequences if she were to shake her head. The end result remained the same. Shuichi’s index finger pointed at Kokichi, then pointed up, a silent comment for him to rise. Kaede kept her arms on him, keeping him stable in her lap.

“Shuichi, please just tell me what I did wrong.” The pleading tone to her voice returned. “Don’t hurt Kokichi anymore. I can, I can make it up to you somehow.”

“Let go of him.”

Her hands shook. On the verge of tears again, Kaede lifted her arms, hands propped under Kokichi’s shoulders to help him sit up. Her aid made it so his wounds wouldn’t hurt too badly as he struggled, balance unsteady with his hands bound. He stumbled to his feet.

Shuichi’s finger spun in a circle. The smaller boy turned, hearing the jangle of keys. He had an almost Pavlovian response to the sound now. Wrists twitched as he felt the cuffs loosen. He didn’t expect the hand on his shoulder preventing him from turning back around or the collar falling apart as it was unlocked. Cold air hit the back of his neck, evaporating as it was replaced with Shuichi’s palm, fingers curling.

“Why are you getting close to her? Do you think she can help you?” Shuichi was questioning him, but Kokichi wasn’t sure if he was expecting an actual answer. Stressful seconds ticked away, and then Shuichi spoke again, his hand gently squeezing Kokichi’s neck. “The only one who can help you now is me. I decide everything that happens to you, I decide how you live and when you die.”

The hand was removed as Shuichi walked away from him. Kokichi finally turned, rubbing his wrists; it had been long enough that having the collar removed made him feel odd, a weightlessness he wasn’t used to. He watched the other take a seat on the arm of the leather couch, Maki close on stand by. The excitement was back in her eyes, shining eagerly. Ominous foreshadowing.

“Go ahead,” Shuichi said.

As if taken off a leash, Maki bounced forward.

There was the distinct whistling of wind and she snagged his shirt and pulled up — threw down, and then pain shot through his forearms as Kokichi barely broke his fall on concrete. Air punched its way out from his chest, a burst of sound and then the lack of it as a foot crashed into his stomach. A strained sob trickled from him as he felt the earlier gashes pop open from the kick, wheezing, arms wrapping around himself for protection only to be met with wetness as blood soaked through gauze. He coughed, trying to curl himself into a ball, Maki’s foot stomping on sore ribs, healing wounds splitting apart.

The next kick connected with his head, and his skull cracked on pavement as the force made him crash into the immovable ground. The foot lifted and smashed onto the same spot, this time a distorted cry pushing from him as he tasted blood, warm fluid spurting from his nose — heat, hot all over again, pulse thudding wildly as he raised his hands to protect himself, legs lifting up to still cover his midsection.

“Stop,” he cried out, not knowing if that counted as disobedience, not sane enough to care, tucking his face into his elbows as Maki stomped on him again and again, the impact resounding as his brain bounced against bone, radiating, pained puffs of air a symphonic addition to his attacker’s delighted grunting —

She snagged his shirt again, tossed him onto his back, straddled his bloodied abdomen. Hands grasped at his jaw, flesh squeezing together, and Kokichi felt the stream of blood from his nose slide down his cheek, traveling around the shape of his ear, pooling at its grooves. His body was screeching, and — it was Kaede too, muted as she pushed her hands into her mouth, refusing to look at the unfolding scene.

Maki giggled, fingers squeezing harder, disfiguring Kokichi’s face at her will. A groan bubbled from him as he tried shaking his head, wanting to weaken her grip to no avail. His arms were trapped with the rest of his body between Maki’s thighs.

“Got him,” she piped, laughing as Kokichi struggled under her, limbs uselessly writhing under her weight. There were thin patches of blood staining her skin as he bled through the bandages. Shadows shifted as Shuichi got up from the couch. Kokichi couldn’t see properly, Maki keeping his gaze front and center towards her.

He heard Kaede shrieking. “No, no, _nonono!_ Don’t, Shuichi don’t!” Panic rose as he hazily thought Shuichi was attacking her, but it dissipated as he saw the detective was unmistakably making his way towards him instead. 

Wedged between his hip and his waistband, gleaming silver and lacquered wood peeked out as Shuichi lifted up the hem of his shirt. Kokichi realized why Kaede had been screaming.

He pulled out the revolver. Kokichi’s nails scratched at the ground, quaking, a squeal as Maki pulled his mouth open. The barrel of the gun jammed itself inside, and he heaved with a violent gag as it hit the back of his throat, sliding easily past his uvula and resting between his tonsils. A frightened whimper. The metallic taste spread across his tongue, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. The breaths he took in through his nose were labored and damp. So much of his blood was seeping out of him.

“ _Oh God_ , don’t don’t don’t! Please!” Kaede shrieked again, chain screaming with her as she desperately pulled, trying to get to Kokichi’s side. There was a rapid clicking, gun vibrating against his teeth as Shuichi spun the cylinder.

“Uuu —” The noise was involuntary, a result of him trying to keep quiet but having difficulties as his mouth was forced open. He rolled his eyes up, staring at Shuichi pleadingly, seeing no mercy reflected back at him.

“One bullet!” Shuichi’s voice rang loud with no hesitation, “Kaede has to figure out what she did, and every minute she can’t, I’m gonna pull the trigger once!”

“ _No! Shuichi, no! I don’t know!_ ” Her words cracked, howling, crude and raw. Her entire body twisted despairingly, face clenched and tear-streaked.

Shuichi’s finger slipped behind the trigger guard.

Cruel grins and cold eyes.

“Time starts now.”


	21. So

Kaede’s breath hitched hard, gasps high-pitched and urgent. She gulped in air like a swimmer breaching the surface of the ocean. At the beginning, her efforts to speak were entirely fruitless, the words warped to unintelligible levels; Maki squawked as a crude mockery to her attempts and relished in the laugh that rumbled from her partner, the gun jostling as he chuckled. The metal hit Kokichi’s enamel, and the innate feeling of the two different substances coming together made his nerves quiver uncomfortably.

Kaede tried again, but this time her consonants were spoken too forcefully to be decipherable. Her hands clutched at her hair, face crimson as it shut down, eyes and mouth closing their doors. The curvature of her facial muscles bulged as she tensed. “ _I-I don’t know!_ I don’t know, I c-can’t th-th-think of a-anything!”

Shuichi flicked the trigger.

_click_

The saliva gathering in Kokichi’s mouth choked him as he reflexively jerked away, propelled by the shrill scream that came from the other side of the room.

Kaede covered her face with her hands, knuckles bent as she pushed her fingers into her skull, puddles of white spreading across her red skin. She was already bringing up her shoulder to turn away from the scene.

“I can do all the pulls now,” Shuichi said boredly, head tilted in an indication of thoughtfulness. “I don’t really want to listen to you crying for six minutes.”

“ _No! I can do it!_ ” The phrase crumbled as she screeched it, chopped in half by an incoming sob. She remained hidden away, her voice raising in octaves. “J-Just w-w-wait — !” Her hands formed a dome over her features. Every shaking breath she took caused them to pull convex. Frantically, they moved up, now only hiding her panicked eyes. “W-was it i-involving you with K-Kokichi? O-or, when — when I m-made a move o-on you w-when you came o-o-over af-after, after the fu-funeral?”

The stuttering was almost comical. If Maki had tried to mock her, it would have sounded exactly the same — Kokichi could barely make out the gist of what she was saying, a difficult task anyway as his attention was wholly absorbed by the weapon lodged in his mouth. Shuichi seemed uninterested in the examples she laid out, choosing to study a large crack in the brick wall nearby instead. His free hand tapped on the floor.

“W-was I n-not, not a good g-girlfriend t-t-to you?” Kaede swiped at her face, lips moist with salted tears and snot and nervous sweat. Her shirt sleeve was already soaked through, damp and inefficient. “Or, um, d-did I, did it h-have s-s-something to do with th-the, the people you — you _killed_?” She steamrolled through the last sentence, body pulling towards her center as though she was terrified that Shuichi would strike her for stating the truth.

The gun pushed slightly down. Kokichi suppressed his urge to vomit as the metal barrel scraped the innermost portion of his tongue. He blinked away tears that filmed over his sight.

“Tsu-Tsumugi, right? Uhm, um, A-Angie?” Kaede peeked between the gaps of her fingers to see if Shuichi’s expression changed as she listed names. It seemed like his expressiveness was shutting down, steeling himself against Kaede’s guesses to prevent her gaining any clues. _Does he want an excuse to kill me?_ Kokichi thought, the dismal possibility rooting itself in his brain until he considered it with utmost certainty. _There’s no way she can guess. She has no idea._

“Hi-Himiko? Or w-was it s-something to do w-w-with R-Rantaro? Since, since y-you —” The lump in her throat gave way as she swallowed thickly. “Since you — k-killed him too…?”

In a deeper part of his throat, Kokichi felt the gun move.

It suddenly occurred to him that Shuichi was giving the answers away.

What was this called again? A ‘tell’? Kokichi vaguely remembered the terminology, understood on a basic level that it was something you could use to read someone, a kind of tick that would give away a person away when they were hiding something. The differences were slight, but the gun being pushed into his mouth made Kokichi hyper aware of the other’s movements; so was Kaede getting closer? Did Shuichi know he was doing this?

Even though Maki was positioning his head and her entire weight was on his upper body, his hands and feet should still be visible to Kaede. He just had to get her to look at him instead of Shuichi for a little bit, and he could tell her. He shifted his tongue awkwardly, letting the gun slide around until it set off his gag reflex. He didn’t try to stop himself from retching this time, his limbs jerking once under Maki’s hips, and he heard a gasp from far away, the jangling of chain hitting bed post. He didn’t know if she was looking at him, her body blocked by Maki’s looming form, but he took a chance anyway.

He made a fist with his left hand, moved his index finger up and down. A small nod, a yes, a step in the correct direction, specific enough so she would know he was doing it on purpose. Maki increased the force of her hold as he wiggled under her, and Kokichi tearfully mumbled around the obstruction as it repositioned itself. Shuichi looked down on him with narrowed eyes. For a moment, the smaller boy was terrified that he had been caught giving Kaede a hint, but Shuichi just gave a sigh before he chose to focus on the wall again.

 _Did you see that?_ Kokichi thought hard, as though thinking harder would actually get the concept to Kaede in the case she hadn’t seen.

“I-It has to be Rantaro, right? He’s the o-only one I kn-know,” Kaede stammered out. Kokichi had to stop himself from giving a sigh of relief.

The reprieve was destroyed as Shuichi pulled the trigger.

_click_

Kokichi squealed, flinching from the sound, a futile reaction as Maki’s hands kept him locked in place. The blond gave a muted screech, the hollow noise of an empty chamber breaking Kaede from her line of thought. Sobbing was drowned out by the cylinder jamming his vocal chords.

“Two in a row!” Maki said, tone teasing with a hard, challenging edge. Her ironically spoken amicableness sounded like a warning. As if she was daring Kokichi to get ‘lucky’ again, as if it was in his power to make that choice, and if he didn’t die on the next round that she would be waiting for him with something worse. Either scenario, she was positive to be the victor. Kokichi flex his jaw and flinched away as his teeth hit the gun again. There was no point in thinking about Maki right now. He had to make sure Kaede got to the correct event as quickly as possible.

He couldn’t die. They were going to get out together. He shut his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of the gun in his mouth.

“W-was it h-how we m-met?” Kaede’s face twisted, trying to keep herself focused. Her fists knocked on her head like it would help her spill out ideas.

The hand remained silent. Concentrate. Concentrate.

“M-maybe, um, was it u-us g-getting together?”

It pushed down.

Kokichi mostly stayed still this time, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. His finger wiggled up and down. _You’re on the right path._ Kaede shifted a bit to her right, and Kokichi could see that her eyes were wandering everywhere, never looking at a single place for too long, fearful that she would give Kokichi’s help away. She was speaking easier, losing the initial stammering that made her words difficult to understand.

“D-did it have something to do with the f-fake IDs? Or ma-maybe the, the O-Oxycontin?”

Kokichi went back to being confused. The topic of conversation wasn’t about someone he knew anyway, so he was prepared not to understand much of it; the list Kaede gave was just so far from what he knew her to be that it disoriented him, took him out of the moment for a bit. He mentally shook his head clear. Nevermind that for now — he would have plenty of time to question her about her relationship with Rantaro later. He just had to stay alive.

“The H-Halloween party, where we s-stole the keys to that o-one car, was it y-y-yours? I don’t, don’t r-remember it that well, but I —”

“ _No_ ,” Shuichi said, suddenly exasperated.

_click_

There were no bloodied screams or fantastical reactions for that pull. Kaede gave a faint whimper, curled herself into an upright ball, while Kokichi jumped once, brow scrunched as he tried to focus on Shuichi’s hand.

In front of him, Maki broke her gaze from the boy under her to look at Shuichi, the surprise sheer on her features. “That minute wasn’t up yet.”

“I know what she’s talking about. She’s being gross,” Shuichi grumbled, gaze falling from brick to concrete. From the way the gun wobbled in his grip, it felt like he was starting to lose his composure. Kaede kept speaking, words more hurried now.

“Did I d-do something bad to him? Is that it?”

Stillness.

“Did he do something bad to you when we were going out?”

No movement.

“W-was it, um, h-his ex-girlfriend?”

Twitch.

Kokichi moved his finger. She was getting closer.

“Th-that girl, did you know her? A friend? Um, m-maybe a relative? Oh, bu-but you d-don’t have any sisters or cousins our age or anything —”

“What about his ex? What did you do?” Shuichi said. Kokichi didn’t need his eyes closed to notice that Shuichi’s arm had tensed considerably. The revolver shook along with him.

“We — I — He b-broke up with her, for m-me,” Kaede said, her voice quieting in shame. “Is that it? That I broke them up?”

Shuichi stared blankly at the floor. He said nothing, and Kokichi could hear the rapid thump of his pulse in his ears as the room stood, devoid of sound. There was a shaking gasp as Kaede geared up to speak again, but Shuichi beat her to it.

“That’s close enough,” he said.

_click_

“All the way to number four! Lucky, lucky!” Maki crowed.

Kokichi stared at Shuichi in disbelief.

“W-wait, was that, wasn’t that it?! Di-didn’t I get it right?” Kaede stammered as the trigger snapped back into place.

“Not entirely. You’re still wrong about a few things.” Shuichi sounded distant. “I have a sister. Maki’s my sister.”

“ _What?_ ” Kaede’s voice raised, fists balling into locks of hair. Kokichi’s eyes moved to Maki, who was dipping her head down bashfully as the detective’s attention switched to her.

“Only half,” she said, so quiet that Kokichi hardly caught it.

“And Rantaro didn’t… leave an ex-girlfriend.” Shuichi stared at Kaede now, who stilled under his sight, wide-eyed. “He left me.”

“H-Huh? N-no, it was, he was dating a girl — I-I saw them together a couple of times,” Kaede said.

“Yeah, I know what you saw.” His finger twitched.

_click_

“O-Okay, _okay_ , I-I believe you! I-I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! Please!” There was an echoed clatter as the chain connecting Kaede to the bed pulled, and she threw herself onto the floor with her head down, tears dripping onto the floor in wet drops. “Please, forgive me, don’t kill him — !” Kokichi choked, vision swimming. That was the fifth one. The next one was going to kill him for sure. Shuichi had never planned on letting Kaede win this game. What was the point?

“No.” Shuichi darkened, and the gun was trembling as he jammed it sideways, stretching the opening to Kokichi’s throat. The smaller boy gagged again, tasting sour bile rising in place of vomit. “There’s nothing you could say or do that can make me forgive you. And I thought — I thought you knowing it would make me feel better. But it feels exactly the same. How could you — ?” The question hissed through clenched teeth, and Shuichi’s expression turned anguished, someone on the verge of bawling but futilely holding back. “You ruined everything. _You ruined my life._ Rantaro was the only thing I had, and you _took that from me!_ ”

“N-no, please! Shuichi, h-he didn’t do anything, Kokichi didn’t do anything to you! Please, don’t!” Kaede shrieked, her body still hunched over, screaming at the ground. “It was me! It was me, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry _I’m sorry I’m sorry!_ ”

“Do it,” Maki whispered, “Kill him. Make her pay.”

Shuichi’s finger tensed. Kokichi cried, tears and snot dripping from him, not even caring about how bad his wounds felt, just struggling as Maki held him down. A last plea to Shuichi, eyes locking on with his, and teeth clattering on metal as he tried to mumble out his name around the gun.

“Yuu — iji —” he cried out. A million statements ran through his head in a second.

_Don’t kill me. Don’t._

Shuichi looked down on him.

“ _Don’t!_ ” Kaede screamed.

 

 

 

 

 

_click_

 

 

 

 

 

The gun pulled out of his mouth.

Kokichi took a sputtering breath, head turning to the side as he coughed. The hands around his face were lax as they pulled away, and Maki looked at Shuichi with a face of obvious confusion.

“Did it… not go off?” Maki asked, stunned, but Shuichi wasn’t acknowledging her at all. He was looking down at Kokichi, eyes glazed and vacant, barely interested as Kokichi stared back at him.

“Shuichi, Shuichi, don’t kill me, I don’t wanna die,” Kokichi finally pleaded out, the name chanted rhythmically between solid hiccups, body writhing. Unfocused, Shuichi’s hands found his face, gingerly replacing Maki’s as they cupped around his jaw.

“ _Poor Kokichi_ ,” Shuichi cooed, voice sounding so far away that Kokichi couldn’t even tell if he was really being spoken to, “Kaede hurt you so much too. The only reason you’re here is because she messed up. If she hadn’t started everything, you could’ve all remained friends. You and her and Kaito. It’s so unfortunate. Instead, you’re here, and she’s here, and Rantaro’s gone.”

He smiled weakly, popping open the cylinder of the revolver for Kokichi to see. Six empty holes for bullets peered back.

“I never loaded it. I wasn’t going to kill you.” The admission was coy, like he hadn’t planned on telling Kokichi when it was all over. Kokichi sighed, air pushing out of him in relief as the gun was shown to be obsolete, the tension dropping from him fast as exhaustion set in.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me about this,” Maki said, voice stressed. Shuichi popped the cylinder back inside the gun, replacing it in the waistline of his pants. His gaze refocused, but he still wasn’t looking at her.

“Does it matter?” he said.

“You, you lied to me,” Maki said incredulously, teeth grinding together, eyebrows up. Shuichi’s eyes finally raised, glimmering dangerously.

“You’re really going to take that tone with me?” The statement was a near growl. Maki’s jaw loosened, startled as she stared back at him.

“I just, you should’ve told me —”

“I should’ve told you what? I haven’t had to tell you anything about me since we met.” A hint of anger rippled through his even voice. “And you made things way more difficult for me with your entire spiel, but I welcome you here with open arms. Because we’re family, and I know what it’s like to want to trust _family._ And you’re going to complain? You want me to trust you, but you can’t even trust me to have a reason for what I do?”

“I wasn’t saying that,” Maki babbled, trying to ease Shuichi’s anger even as she refused to relent.

“Get off of him.” The command was short, almost barked. Maki’s mouth opened as if to protest, deciding against it after a few beats. She got up, Kokichi whining as his body was free from her weight, and she dutifully sat herself next to Shuichi. The traces of blood on her legs hid themselves as they tucked under her skirt.

Kokichi felt like he was going to pass out, Shuichi’s hands burning on his cheeks already warmed with blood, and his eyes closed not from concentration but from tiredness. If this kept up, he might actually die from pure panic. Escaping was an impossibility when Shuichi and Maki were both here, and this was only furthering his inability to fight back. What day was it where they could both stay overnight with no one to come looking for them? What kind of excuse had they given their parents?

“Get up,” Shuichi murmured.

Kokichi rolled, trying to get on his stomach, and he whimpered loudly as his wounds blared with pain. The cuts were screaming at him, his heart becoming one with every gash on his torso. He shook his head pitifully. “I can’t. It hurts.”

Unsympathetic, Shuichi spoke again. “Do it.”

Kokichi shook violently as he pushed himself up, doing his best to ignore the heat shooting through his body, sweat beading on skin. But eventually he got himself into a sitting position facing Shuichi, teetering. He swayed. Behind him, Kaede shifted, too frightened to say anything in protest.

“I don’t… feel good,” Kokichi weakly mumbled. Shuichi’s arms were hooking under his shoulders, and Kokichi transfered his weight as his own arms wrapped around Shuichi’s neck. Hands snaked their way to his thighs.

“Hold on to me,” Shuichi whispered, and Kokichi mustered all his strength to keep balanced as Shuichi lifted him up, head lolling heavily forward, chin pressed on his shoulder. His vision was fading, static entering his periphery like a swam of small bugs. He buried his face into Shuichi’s neck, letting his sight fill with dark sweater fabric and light complexion. Like holding a sleeping child. “The door.”

Maki’s voice fluttered at those words. There was a shuffling noise as she got up from the floor as well. “You’re going to bring him upstairs?”

“Yeah. Open the door.”

A flurry of hushed words: _There’s no space upstairs. (There’s the bed.) There’s a bed down here — (It’s too cold for him down here.) But the, the bed upstairs, that’s where we sleep, there’s no space._

Then a firmly spoken name: “Maki.” Kokichi felt Shuichi’s chest rumble with that commanding tone. “Stop arguing with me and open the door.”

A prolonged silence passed, and finally there was a soft noise of the door swinging open. Kokichi let his eyes open slightly, feigning that they remained closed as he tried to see what was going on. He saw Maki glaring at him with a similar look she had shown him before, malicious and disgusted. As he passed through the frame, he could see Kaede, staring horrified as he was taken away. There was a warm gust of wind as they left the chill of the basement, and he realized how acclimated he had gotten to that unrelenting cold.

His cuts itched unrelentingly under his bandages, but the change in temperature eased his body, lulling him into a state of semi-consciousness. He rocked gently as Shuichi ascended the stairs in the narrow hallway towards another door that sat ominously at the top. Maki opened this door as well, staring at the floor with poorly hidden anger. Shuichi didn’t even glance at her as he exited.

So he was in the basement of a house — he was too tired to inspect the area with any level of commitment, but it was devoid of anything identifiable. No photographs, just mass produced paintings like those that hung in a hotel room, beautifully, coldly decorated in the same fashion. Picture perfect, but not very lived in. Shuichi carried him into a bedroom and lowered him onto a large bed. Blue floral sheets, embroidered with white thread into delicate shapes. A metal headboard with vertical bars, ribbed like a cage. Infinitely more comfortable compared to the mediocre excuse for a bed downstairs.

Kokichi sighed, his head hitting the plush pillow. He felt he would fall asleep, his body already too heavy and weak, easily overwhelmed by the simple pleasure of just laying down on a bed again. It was so soft. Warm. There was a discordant noise of things moving in the drawer of the nightstand next to him, and Shuichi produced a pair of handcuffs with a long chain. Probably not law enforcement standard. The chain looped around the bars of the headboard, clicking onto Kokichi’s relaxed wrists easily.

“Why did you bring me up here?” Kokichi asked, eyes closing again. A cool hand brushed away his bangs, and a warm mouth pressed on his forehead, his nose, his lips. He briefly became aware of the blood that had dried on his face, a stream that cracked as his face twitched. Before he could hear an answer, he passed out.

 

 

 

 

 

He was dancing on a clear ballroom floor. Glassy tiles reflected the chandelier lights that hung above him. Shuichi had a gloved hand curled around his side, placed wide against his back. The other arm was outstretched, hand clasped in Kokichi’s. The taller boy was swinging him gracefully atop the intricate polished ground, and Kokichi spun and spun and spun, legs twirling about his center like a whirlwind in a flurry of movement. There was the rustling of white dress shirts and crisply ironed black vests. Coat tails flew around them.

Shuichi had his cheek against his, a pervasive heat on his left side. A short, quavering breath in Kokichi’s ear: “Pick up your feet more.” Kokichi’s knees lifted higher as Shuichi pulled him away, a beautiful glide of rubber soles, a hint of a squeak as he settled back down. With another spin, Kokichi was pulled away and then back in, dipped back, solid in Shuichi’s hands propping him up. He earned a pleased murmur from his dance partner, a whispered “you’re doing great” permeating his mind.

Kokichi’s dark hair flounced in its unevenness, framing fair skin. Shuichi leaned further towards him, another soft whisper in his ear: “I wonder how your face would look if you knew everything I’ve done. Everything I have planned.” He was brought up, back still leaning heavily on Shuichi’s arm, trusting and strong. They waltzed under the stars, white lights filtering through slivers of hanging crystal. Thick blue lashes fluttered over pools of gold.

“Rantaro.” His name sounded beautiful in Shuichi’s dulcet voice. Kokichi frowned at his mention, feet never pausing in their movement. Shuichi looked at peace. “I miss you so much.” He continued despite his heartbroken words being a total contrast to his expression. He leaned forward, his face hidden from Kokichi’s view, lips hovering close to the shell of his ear. “How could you do this to me?”

 

 

 

 

 

Kokichi raised his hand to touch the drool that was threatening to hit the sheets. A crown of navy black hair filled his vision, the smell of roses tickling his nose as he gave a sharp breath of surprise. Shuichi was splayed on top of him, arms and legs bent as though to create a impromptu box around Kokichi’s body. His back rose and fell steadily with deep breaths; he was asleep.

Kokichi blinked, not sure what to make of the situation. Touching his skin, he could tell his face was cleaned — the blood that oozed from his nose was gone. Shuichi must’ve washed his face down when he was asleep, and he had been too absorbed with sleeping to have it wake him up. He looked down and noticed that his bandages under his shirt had been replaced, clean and white under Shuichi’s sleeping form. He tried to reach down, only to have his hands stop short as the metal chain clanged against the bars of the headboard. The unexpected sound sent a startled chill down his spine.

Shuichi remained still, not fidgeting like he had been when he fell asleep downstairs. Kokichi noticed his cheeks were pink, wondered if he had been drinking again. That was the only explanation he could think of as to why Shuichi would sleep in such an uncomfortable place and position. He wiggled slightly, testing to see if he would feel the pain — it still remained as a dull ache in some areas, but it didn’t feel as bad as before. Did he really heal that quickly? There was no way. But it wasn’t like he knew about how long these types of wounds would take to fix themselves.

The room was expensive looking. The decor was modern and pricey, with a set of blinds that covered a large window to the right side of the bed. The nightstand looked creamy and dark, wood shining in daylight. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep.

Then he noticed plastic crumpled hard in Shuichi’s right hand. From the little he could see, he thought he could see yellow. Shuichi shifted, and Kokichi froze, instinctively not wanting to wake him.

A drunken mumble, “Why’d you make me do this?” Kokichi’s nose scrunched as he smelt the alcohol on his breath again, humid and bitter. “I thought it would feel better. But nothing’s changed. Nothing happened.” The words were incomprehensible. 

Shuichi’s lips moved again. “Rantaro, tell me. Please. I don’t know what to do.” His grip strengthened, the plastic crunching under his fingers. 

“What am I supposed to do?”


	22. DON'T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : HEAVY EXPLICIT NON CON SCENE. This takes place after the first large break. Stop reading after Shuichi leaves in order to avoid this scene.

Shuichi’s hand relaxed when he finished speaking, and Kokichi saw that the something-yellow that was in his grip was hair.

The plastic bag crinkled as it was released from the oppressive force, and Kokichi could barely help it — his body jerked, instinctively wanting to run away from the boy sleeping so peacefully on top of him. His legs clambered clumsily on the bedsheets, his poor footing dragging down the fabric. The chains rattled on the iron bars of the headboard as he tried to push his body into a sitting position.

Shuichi rose at Kokichi’s reaction, a swift, continuous motion of his head raising, suddenly sharp with attention. There was a glimmer of panic reflected in his eyes as they darted side to side, and upon seeing nothing, his body twisted to look behind him as though he expected an intruder to be present. He was only faced with empty space. Kokichi scrambled to sit, his back against the metal headboard as Shuichi got up, his legs pulling up to his chest. Shuichi’s body was still tense when he turned back around.

“What the _hell_ was that?” he seethed angrily.

Kokichi froze as he met Shuichi’s deathly serious glare, but he managed to stammer out, “That’s — is that Kaede’s hair?”

His face morphing into confusion, Shuichi looked down at his hand, seeing the smashed ziploc that held a thick lock of blond hair, then looked back up at Kokichi like he didn’t understand what the significance of it was. As if he didn’t realize the reason Kokichi was startled was because it looked exactly like every package in his trophy drawer. It dawned on Kokichi that Shuichi wasn’t present when he had been snooping around the basement, and he didn’t know if such a thing was off limits, if it would make him upset.

“Did you hurt her?” Kokichi asked, quieted with fear.

“Oh. That’s all? That’s what you wanted to know?” Shuichi grimaced and tossed the bag away in a random direction. It skidded onto an obsolete patch of beige carpeting, thrown away like trash, now too far away from the bed for Kokichi to properly inspect. It wasn’t like he needed to look at it anymore to know it was Kaede’s anyway — or, was it? Doubt settled in his mind now that the package laid in an unreachable place. Had he seen a bag with yellow hair the first (and only) time he opened up that drawer in the basement? He couldn’t remember, but the bag Shuichi threw away also had no writing on it, the plastic clean and shiny. It only made sense it would be hers.

Shuichi brought his body up, sitting on his knees on a precariously unstable mattress. Kokichi stared at him, wide-eyed with anticipation as Shuichi leaned in closer, his hand passing him to grip the top of the headboard. Closing the distance between them, he could smell the unfiltered sourness of his breath, a combination of alcohol and sleep as the detective’s lips hovered over his own. His eyes squinted, preparing to close in case Shuichi pressed further.

But just as quickly as he got up, Shuichi backed away, legs swinging off of the bed and making their way to the connected bathroom. Kokichi was left on the bed, confused and partially hugging his knees to himself, as much as he could with his restrained arms. Shuichi disappeared as the bathroom door closed, and he could hear the distinct noise of a shower curtain sliding on metal, the creak of a handle, water starting to fall like heavy rain onto a ceramic basin.

Kokichi stayed still, not knowing what exactly to do in Shuichi’s absence. The new room was too simple, not much to look at or do compared to the plethora of weird items that littered the basement. Aside from the bed he was currently on and the nightstand to his left, the remainder of the room’s furnishings were distanced enough that he couldn’t touch them: a wooden dresser, a tall bookshelf stacked with novels, kept upright by a ceramic skull. There was another door that looked to be a closet. It was left ajar, and he would make out hanging shirts and jackets in the darkness. There was a window to his right as well, something that actually lead to the outside, judging by the sunlight that dappled the floor around the blackout curtains. Also too far away from him to touch, even if he stretched his body out and tried to reach it with his feet. He would need incredible core strength to do anything with that window, and that was an impossibility considering the state of his stomach.

The collar was gone, but the chain on the handcuffs were significantly shorter, effectively restricting his movements to the bed only. Getting off the bed still meant his shoulders would be over it. The lack of freedom was frustrating — he could at least walk around in the basement. In this bedroom, he was forced to sit in one spot, predictable and unable to explore.

His gaze briefly settled on the nightstand. Two drawers beckoned him with brassy handles. It couldn’t hurt to look at this, at least. He carefully put out his foot, grabbing the knob of the top drawer as best he could with his toes. The compartment slid open with a loud clatter, a noise that startled him. He looked to the door, didn’t hear any reaction. The shower was still going. He angled his head to look inside.

There was part of him that was hoping it would be unused and empty, despite the fact that an empty one wouldn’t be of any help to him. If it was anything comparable to what was in that desk drawer downstairs, he might be better off not seeing it. Instead, he saw a large plastic food container filled with phallic glass and metal toys, jostling from the force he had opened the drawer with. Beside it, a cylindrical bottle of lube rolled forward, clattering as it hit the front slab of wood.

Kokichi just as loudly slammed the drawer shut, turning away from it as his face heated up. He didn’t know what to expect, but he definitely hadn’t been prepared for that. With how sparsely lived-in the house looked, it was odd that something so personal was stashed away in this bedroom. But Shuichi wasn’t a person that often made sense, so it was honestly a moot point, and he didn’t want to speculate on it anymore. Kokichi felt a mild disappointment at how embarrassed he was becoming. He had never really thought about using sex toys, never even had an experience beyond a shaky, chaste first kiss when he was younger, too shy and too young to think about putting his hands anywhere they didn’t have express permission to be.

He and Shuichi really lived in two different worlds. After that, what could be in the second one —

The shower creaked as it turned off, and Kokichi hurriedly brought his legs back up to return to the pose Shuichi left him in. He anxiously stared at the door, waiting for Shuichi to come out, but a click and whir of a hair dryer followed instead, the muffled rush of hot air loud even through the walls. The investigative urge had left him immediately as he heard Shuichi preparing to come out. He didn’t care to snoop while Shuichi was so obviously going to come out at any time. Kokichi remained seated, idly picking at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt as a distraction.

Shuichi came out a few minutes later, old clothing balled up and tucked under his arm. Kokichi watched him, timidly dropping his eyes when he saw more skin than he was used to seeing. But his gaze was eventually brought back up in curiosity as he noticed the dark lines of improperly healed scars strewn about his torso. It looked like a garden of rising, oddly patched up skin in different shapes and sizes, like someone had ripped his skin and replaced the gaps with someone else’s like a morbid embroidery project. They were all old wounds like Kaede’s had been, but to a much more obvious and severe degree.

Shuichi was pulling up dark boxer briefs he got from the dresser as Kokichi watched how the scars extended to his back, light greenish blue bruises peppered along the curve of his spine. His head tossed to the side, the joints in his neck cracking loudly as he made his way over to the closet. The old clothes were tossed into a laundry basket, open mouthed and waiting. Fingers hovered over a few selection of coat hangers, and Shuichi finally picked out a striped purple button down, a long black skirt, and a blond wig. These draped over his arm, and with those items in tow, he walked back to the bathroom and obscured himself from Kokichi’s view.

There was around ten minutes of shuffling behind that closed door, and then a completely different person walked out.

Kokichi gaped at him; Shuichi’s appearance had changed so wholly that he was unrecognizable. Light, bronzed makeup accentuating his already feminine face, eyes a bright green from colored contacts, the blond wig brushing on the tops of his shoulders. He went into the bathroom and somehow reappeared as a random woman, transformation so utterly complete that Kokichi wasn’t sure he would believe they were the same person. The woman — _Shuichi_ — mindlessly dusted some invisible lint off his shirt as he made his way to the nightstand, crouching carefully down to open the second drawer.

The drawer carried a single, bulging fanny pack and a leather wallet. Shuichi unzipped the pack, and Kokichi stared as he took out a crisp hundred dollar bill from a thick stack, held uniform with rubber bands. He took the wallet out, stuffing the money inside of it as he kicked the drawer shut. The wallet tucked into his skirt pocket.

Newly viridian eyes flickered to Kokichi with clear annoyance. “Stop staring at me. It’s making me nervous.”

“S-Sorry,” Kokichi quickly said, looking at his own feet as his toes wiggled anxiously.

Shuichi folded up the long sleeves of his blouse, dangling earring sounding from under thick blond hair. With a final glance to him, he asked, “I’m going shopping. Have anything you want to eat?”

Kokichi found himself perplexed by the question. “No.”

“Maki said you don’t have any allergies.”

“I don’t,” Kokichi said truthfully, knowing it would be pointless to question how Maki had even found out that information. He focused on how the duvet folded under his weight, barely noticing as Shuichi leaned down towards his ear. The yellow strands of hair tickled his cheek, finally causing him to flinch away. Before he could turn his head, a strong hand gripped his jaw, keeping him facing forward.

“Don’t try to escape while I’m gone, okay? Maki’s really mad at you right now, so it’d be dangerous to give her a reason to kill you.”

Kokichi nodded once. The hold on his chin released. He continued to stare down at the sheets, not having the courage to look at Shuichi as he left.

 

 

 

 

 

It was inevitable that he would fall asleep at some point. His body was still exhausted from how strenuous the past few days had been on him, both physically and mentally. He wanted to slide under the covers, but every time his hands reached down, the chain of the handcuffs hit the metal bars in a sordid reminder of his prisoner status. He slept with them above his head, mind uneasy, his dreams having returned to a constant blackness. In a way, he preferred the dreams of nothingness over the more vivid ones he would have; those were always too personal, too reflective. If they were ominous, he would wake still tired and anxious. If they were happy, then waking up became depressing as he acclimated to reality.

But even that was preferable to what he woke up to: the first sensation as he slipped back into consciousness was how badly his stomach hurt. His wounds had been relatively quiet when he went to bed, but now the pain was raging for attention. Sweat formed on his skin as he became supremely aware that the gashes hadn’t healed at all. The lines of scabs under his bandages only served to itch his split skin as it tried to mend itself. Wiggling from the discomfort, he found that movement made the pain worse, earning himself a hiss as nails dug into his palms.

Blood thumped hot in his left temple, a sensation that made the back of his eye throb painfully with each beat of his heart. His fingers uselessly pressed at the engorged blood vessel in an effort to calm it down, to no avail. His body was suddenly operating on waves of pain, lightening when he rode the rising surf only for it to come back twice as strong when the tide crashed onto the beach. He was shivering, sticky with sweat. It was almost unreal, how bad the pain was, a feeling that the mind would be incapable of remembering despite it being so unforgettable in the moment.

He barely registered the door opening, not knowing how long he had been swimming in that ocean of pain — but he did register it, at least.

“Shuichi?” Kokichi called out pathetically, waiting for a response. But there was none, and he watched as a woman walked across his vision — wait, _it’s Shuichi_ , you keep forgetting. Either way, he was effectively ignoring him, choosing to enter the bathroom instead. Kokichi called for him a few more times with similar results, and time slowed to a crawl as Shuichi was gone from his view. By the time he had cleaned up and put on a more comfortable change of clothes, Kokichi’s entire frame was tensed to withstand the pain pulsating in him, teeth sharply biting into his lower lip.

Shuichi made his way to the side of the bed. Through watering eyes, Kokichi moaned pitifully, “Shuichi, it hurts, my cuts hurt really bad.”

“Yeah. The pain killers I gave you earlier probably wore off while I was gone. Don’t you remember taking them?” Shuichi questioned slowly, almost to tease him. Kokichi trembled as he shook his head. The simple action was really all he could bear given his current state. Head tilting curiously, Shuichi smiled his terrificly playful smile, the one he had as a preface to something terrible, and his hand outstretched to show two oblong white pills resting on his palm. “If you beg for them, maybe I’ll give them to you.”

“Please, please.” Kokichi only repeated the word over and over until he rode another wave that lifted him away from the pain. “Please, I’m begging you, let me have them.”

“Mm, but what if I want something in return?”

“Please, anything, just, the pills first, please.” The fragmented pieces of a sentence were spoken as tears joined the sweat under his chin.

Shuichi squinted happily. He placed the pills on his own tongue, the two white ovals bright on pale pink, and he closed his mouth as he leaned in, pressing dry lips onto Kokichi’s obscenely wet ones. Kokichi whined until the taller boy opened his mouth, his tongue swiping furiously over the other’s, medication bitter as it was pushed towards the opening of his throat. He quickly swallowed the two lumps down, desperate to get them back into his system to escape the relentless pain.

He sucked in a gasp as Shuichi climbed on top of him, bed dipping, both bodies moving with the current of motion in the soft mattress. Kokichi’s wounds were complaining furiously at the movement, the wave crashing into the sandy ocean floor, pain bursting in him. He opened his eyes, dazed and dizzy, wondered why Shuichi wasn’t pulling away. His mouth was still cracked open, a tongue that left a trace of mint of top of his as they kissed. It was more pleasant than the last time they kissed, lacking that lingering metallic aftertaste.

His head was yanked backwards, and a choked noise of surprise left him as he realized Shuichi had tangled his hand into his hair, holding his head firmly in place. He didn’t have the ability to fight against him in this state. Even though he had taken the pain killers, they most likely wouldn’t kick in until at least a half hour had passed. The hand tugged his head further back. A strained whimper caught in his throat as their mouths finally separated with a small pop, Shuichi’s mouth moving to lick at the nape of his neck. A violent shiver wracked through Kokichi’s spine, struggling out a quiet, “wait, wait” as his teeth began scraping on sensitive skin.

“Ha — ah?!” Kokichi suddenly yelped as he felt hips grind down into his, Shuichi’s rising erection rocking forward, body blossoming with heat. He blushed deeply and all at once, partially from the stimulation of his inflamed wounds and partially from the unexpected advances, a strong tremor settling onto his small frame. Thighs pressed together to instinctively push Shuichi away, but it prompted the other male to come forward, leaning his lower body further into him. The warmth was an unwelcome stimulation on an already-overheating human. In a futile act of resistance, he brought his hands forward to push Shuichi weakly away — but the handcuffs bit into his wrists as he tried to, and Shuichi’s hips bucked forward into his again. Kokichi convulsed, squealing as pain shot through his body, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. “Ow, ow! What — ?”

Shuichi nipped him hard on the skin near his collarbone, leaving a stinging sensation behind despite not breaking skin, and Kokichi lost his voice. He twitched against the grip in his hair, trying to place his hand on top of Shuichi’s to uselessly pry away his fingers. The silence of his attacker was disquieting; the only noises that came from him were organic and essentially unavoidable, a huff of heavy breathing, rustling fabrics and the creaking of the bed. It wasn’t the first time he had advanced on him, but they were always dominance-centered acts under the guise of something terrible, whether it had been the razor or the drugs, and he had never been this brazen about it before. The constant wetness of tongue on neck was disorienting.

Shuichi raised his head, his own face a dissolved scarlet, saliva glistening on his lips. He released Kokichi’s hair as he brought himself up to a sitting position. His left hand hooked under Kokichi’s right knee, pulling the leg up to rest on his shoulder. Kokichi wiggled pointlessly, the chain still sounding on the headboard.

“Kokichi. I did a lot of thinking while I was out.” Shuichi grinned as the movement of his hips elicited another pained cry from the boy underneath. “I decided, I really like you.”

Kokichi stammered out noises, none of them comprehensible words to respond to an equally incomprehensible statement. He was too distracted by that fiery ache that was building in his gut, a combination of totally foreign feelings, none of them pleasant. Having Shuichi grind against him felt weird, and terrible, but mostly, it just felt disgusting that he was too scared to resist meaningfully against him. He wanted to bring his legs up and smash his foot in Shuichi’s self-satisfied face, break his nose and run away, but he knew he could never bring himself to do it. If he even could do it.

“You want to know why, right? I’ll tell you why. I told you, people are the most honest when they think they’re about to die.” Shuichi paused to slip his fingers into the elastic of Kokichi’s shorts and underwear, shimmying them down his thighs as Kokichi groaned, trying to catch his breath. “So I remember everyone by their last words. _I don’t want to die! The Lord will forgive you if you repent! Mom, mom!_ Even Rantaro begged me for forgiveness before I killed him. All of it was so pathetic and sad. But you — you looked at me, so eagerly swallowed up my gun, and you said my name. I’ve never had that happen before. It made me — _excited_.”

The shorts and boxers slid over his ankles and were tossed carelessly onto the floor. Kokichi hissed as his hips were raised, a warm palm groping at his ass, and Shuichi dragged a finger over Kokichi’s half-hardened length, base to tip. The finger swirled around his slit, and Kokichi moved backwards, the heat clawing deep in his stomach as he shifted, fresh tears dripping down his cheeks as he eventually resigned himself to his current position on the bed.

Shuichi’s hands moved to unbutton the front of his own sweatpants. Kokichi looked away, every inch of his body tingling shamefully, that pain still pulsating in his abdomen. Shuichi’s voice was utterly calm as he spoke. “Do you like me, Kokichi?”

“I don’t — I dunno — stop!” Kokichi whimpered as he felt a much more prominent heat press itself between his legs, hating that measured, deliberate slow way Shuichi was rocking into him. “It feels weird —!”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter that much. You’re a virgin, right?” Shuichi kept up with his invasive questions, his body leaning over and to the side, pulling open the drawer of the nightstand and fumbling with the contents. Kokichi bunched a pillow up and buried his face into it to hide from Shuichi’s prying eyes.

“Yeah,” he mumbled into cotton. The drawer knocked closed next to him, and then there was the sound of a bottle popping open. He looked despite not really wanting to know, saw the globs of lubricant glinting as it spread over Shuichi’s fingers. Kokichi squeaked as he felt the digits poke into him, Shuichi’s other hand securing his leg as the cold, slippery liquid let him slip his fingers easily inside. He let out another whine as protest, completely ignored.

There was another wave of heat and pain, washing fully over him and dragging him underwater, and Kokichi felt like crying. Shuichi’s fingers pushed in further, pressing into different areas as he experimentally stretched him open. He pushed past Kokichi’s convulsing muscles fighting him as his fingers curled. This was so shameful. Kokichi was so tired. It had always been this way, just exhaustion and barely resting until more things came to drain his energy, and there hadn’t been one day of relief when it came to Shuichi, because Shuichi always did whatever he pleased. He controlled everything that happened to him because Shuichi was the only thing that happened to him. Did he even have a limit?

There was a sickening sloppy noise as his fingers pulled out.

“So cute,” Shuichi said, tone honey sweet, “I’m going to be your first?”

“Shuichi,” Kokichi pleaded, voice turning soft. Something had to appeal to him. Something, anything. “Don’t.”

“Taking Kokichi’s virginity sounds like a lot of fun, though,” Shuichi purred, “I wanna know what it feels like inside you. I wanna feel how you twitch when I fill your back full of push pins, or when I crush all the joints in your fingers with pliers, or when Kaede watches us —”

“ _No!_ I don’t wanna — Shuichi!” Panic set the pace on his heart high as he felt Shuichi line himself up, and Kokichi fought against the handcuffs hard, ignoring the way the metal bit into his wrists, shaking his head rapidly. “You can’t!”

Shuichi’s eyes narrowed sinisterly. 

“But I can. I can do _whatever_ I want with you.”

Kokichi gave a mangled shriek as Shuichi’s hips pushed forward, opening him up too fast, the preparations too limited for him to properly adjust. His entire body seized at the intrusion, then seized again as pain exploded in him from his cuts, arms struggling to fight back — his voice trickled from his tightening throat, crying out as Shuichi steadily sheathed himself inside him. It felt like his body was being chopped to pieces, splitting in even chunks with angry heat from all directions. Hair stood on end even as the sweat weighed him down.

“No, _no no no_!” Kokichi gasped as Shuichi finally thrust in fully to the hilt, still holding his leg taut against his chest. His other leg thrashed as his hands formed fists around the iron bars of the headboard that trapped him. The other had his hand leaning on the bed, slick with lubricant as it balled up the sheets, heaving with his face contorted in pleasure. Shuichi shuddered, strands of hair sticking to ruddy cheeks. Kokichi gave an unbridled scream as he pulled out, snapped his hips forward to fill him up again, chains clattering in a loathsome orchestra. “Stop! Shuichi, stop!”

“Feels so good,” Shuichi gushed, completely ignoring him. The detective was laughing, a chuckle that made his shoulders vibrate as Kokichi scrunched his eyes shut, jaw setting tensed as he grit his teeth. Every thrust jostled his entire body, activating that jarring pain that sang out like it was being set on fire. Kokichi didn’t even care, he wasn’t holding back anymore, he was just crying and screaming as much as he wanted. He had no one to show off to, no one to look strong in front of. Lips kissed his calf, then bit down hard, and he spasmed again, an anguished screech as his body lifted and slammed back down on the bed. His chest was constricting as Shuichi continuously impaled him.

“Shuichi, hurts, it hurts, please,” Kokichi tried begging again, wrenching open wet eyes only to see an insanely pleased pair staring down at him. As soon as he saw the expression on Shuichi’s face, he had the vivid realization that everything he was saying was only encouraging him, feeling the unmistakable, revolting twitch of his cock inside him. Rational crumbled as he saw that sadistic gleaming in his eyes, and Kokichi kicked his legs, ignoring the way his wounds throbbed even as Shuichi slammed his hand down on his thigh, keeping both from coming into contact with his face. Tossing his head back, he screamed as loud as he could. “Please, please, s-someone, _anyone! Someone help me!_ ”

“Who’re you even calling for? Kaede? Kaito? Maybe Maki?” Shuichi’s laughter only rose in volume, his pace increasing as Kokichi sobbed, breaking his scream as tears choked him. His nerves sang and ached and shouted, every possible combination of stimulation as Shuichi drove himself in deeper. “I told you, I already told you! It’s just me! It’s only _me!_ ”

“ _No!_ ” Kokichi couldn’t even feel his throat anymore, torn raw from his desperate calls for help, Shuichi’s form blurry and wobbling as his body bounced under him. He couldn’t scream anymore, almost tasting blood in his mouth, just crying until his cheeks and the bedsheets under him were thoroughly soaked. “No, _Shuichi! Please, please stop!_ ”

The mention of his name left Shuichi breathless, his upper body bucking forward as he let go of Kokichi’s legs, both hands creating caverns in the bed on either side of Kokichi’s face. Kokichi felt the other’s body tremble violently, a high-pitched moan leaving drool-coated lips. “N-no way, don’t beg like that, that’s too much —”

“Shuichi! Shu —” His chanting was interrupted by a hiccup as Shuichi hit the deepest part of him, a desperate and pained mewl, “Stop, please please please!”

“Kokichi,” Shuichi groaned as he saw the boy under him struggle helplessly, his own expression glazed with pleasure. “Tell me you love me. Say it.”

“I love you! IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou! Please, please!” Kokichi felt his wrists starting to bruise with how hard he was pulling on his restraints, more trying to redirect the pain at this point instead of actually trying to get away. The pain was starting to settle down, the pills finally kicking in, Shuichi still thrusting hard into him, his eyes closed in concentration. His nails dug into the soft skin of his hips, slamming him down over and over. Kokichi thought he was going to pass out from the pain, or whatever this weird feeling was on top of the pain, knees pressing hard into Shuichi’s ribcage.

Shuichi’s laughter turned manic, his shoulders shaking, tears overflowing and forming streaks down his flushed face, “Yeah! Yeah, I love you too! You said it, so don’t ever ask me about Kaede or anyone else ever again! If you ever look at anyone other than me, I’ll — I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you just like I killed Rantaro!”

Unconsciousness crept onto him as Shuichi wrapped his hands around his throat, crushing his windpipe down with his weight, and Kokichi gave a final gasp as Shuichi’s body tensed hard, his grip increasing as he came inside of him, any remaining breath leaving his lungs as Shuichi crashed down on top of him. Before darkness spread its fingers over his eyes, he heard the other male panting hard in his ear, a shrill wet noise as a sob broke through his chest.

 _I want to go home_ , he thought. Kokichi closed his eyes and let the darkness take him away.


	23. EVER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : bad. more torture, references to abuse, threats of noncon. _explicit_ mouth trauma, ear trauma, eye trauma.

First step, capture. Second step, torture. Third step, clean. Fourth step, repeat.

The ordeal was fun, but now Shuichi remained tentatively at step number three. He should clean Kokichi up, and he should start doing his chores, but it had turned into a hassle. He wanted to curl up around the smaller boy and go to bed; the process of going outside in disguise always made him weary. It was well into spring, which meant the humidity turned up at times, and the wig had become annoyingly frazzled as his real hair soaked with sweat under the cap, relishing every small gust of wind. He was pleased, and he thought absent-mindedly that he should reward himself. Let Maki and Kaede and the police wait for another day. He wanted to stay here and never move.

But he had to get up. Grabbing a box of tissues, he noticed small traces of blood as he wiped himself down, freckles left behind after the trauma. Kokichi had most likely torn in a few places because of Shuichi’s own impatience. Yellow eyes flickered up. The boy was passed out peacefully, violet hair fanned out over bedsheets next to a mashed up pillow. His arms rested on either side of his head, two angry imprints of the handcuffs on colorless wrists. He looked calm, but his face was coated with drying trails of tears and snot. Looking at him made Shuichi reflexively sniff, the side effects of his own outburst subsequently settling onto his senses.

He took another tissue, scrubbed at already gone tears, blew his nose. His legs swung over the edge of the bed. Kokichi remained blissfully asleep even as his body rocked like a cradle. The painkillers must have done their job in numbing him down. He wasn’t giving any signs of waking up.

Cleaning Kokichi was a fairly clinical process. Shuichi had already grown used to all the gross possible sounds the human body could make: the squelching of fluids as they rubbed between flesh, the crunching of bones, the snapping of skin and tendons as they tore and pulled back like rolling window blinds. Whatever. It was all extraneous, unavoidable details, nothing to be embarrassed over. He could almost hear his ghosts protest at that thought as his fingers scraped inside, pulling out all the opaque, viscous liquid mottled with blood onto a hand towel he propped under him.

Two baby wipes were enough to get most of Kokichi’s skin clean. Shuichi was getting his days a bit blurred together, but he assumed that another shower later couldn’t hurt. He poked Kokichi’s arm experimentally, feeling the soft fat on muscle give way under his finger. Kokichi was getting thinner, and his skin was a little too dry for his liking — should he put lotion on him? Or a long bath might just be better. He would have to take him to the bathroom every once in a while, now that he was effectively chained to the bed and unable to go himself. And he still needed to cook dinner, he kept forgetting —

— Ah, he should probably feed Kaede too. He should.

Well, he knew he should, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. He hadn’t gone down to the basement since he brought Kokichi upstairs, and seeing Kaede was a gamble on his own self-control. Watching Kaede admit defeat hadn’t been satisfying at all. It just angered him, even when he didn’t think he could get any angrier than he already was. In a place where honesty was key, honesty was the _law_ , she carried herself with that pungent insincerity. Kaede was slippery and unremorseful. A great actress. Just not great enough to fool him, someone who was accustomed to spotting lies. She apologized for getting caught, for getting hurt, not for her transgressions.

She must’ve been so proud of herself, putting on that pitiful show. He could almost visualize her in an impossible hypothetical, where she would escape and tearfully talk about how traumatic everything had been. Flaunting and primping for the camera, she would tell her tale with an implicit plea. _I tried to protect him, I was protecting Kokichi the entire time!_ She would give a flip of her hair, something she would stupidly think is subtle. _I’m a great friend. Please praise me._

Yeah. He didn’t want to see her. But as always, he didn’t have much of a choice.

He sauntered to the closet, reaching high to the top shelf, a storage place full of little miscellaneous knickknacks he had saved up. Tsumugi had given him a Polaroid camera at some point, a fully operational, leftover prop from one of her cosplays. It was one of those classic types. White and clunky, its frame was coated in a thin layer of dust. He dusted it with his fingers. Did this still have film? He didn’t have his phone on him anymore, so it was this or nothing for the time being.

Shuichi pointed it at his feet, his fingers tapping the shutter release.

 

_”Shuichi.”_

_A sweet voice._

_Milk and honey evaporating in just-warm-enough coffee._

_He looked up in time to see Rantaro holding the camera, framed perfectly among slender fingers, and there was a swift click and flash as he jumped to hide his face. Too little, too late. He could hear the whir of film as the camera spit out the slab of thick photo paper, the undeveloped darkness ominous on a white border. Rantaro flapped it coolly in the air, fanning his neck as he laughed._

_“No, you know I don’t like photos!” Shuichi complained, a bashful splatter of blood rushing to his cheeks. Rantaro smiled at him through grassy bangs, demure and innocent._

_“You don’t need to be so shy. See, look at how pretty you are.” He held the photo up to his face, colors seeping on top of the black square, and Shuichi saw that boy reflected in the glossy print. Someone that was meant to be him, curious, wolfish eyes glinting under the dark brim of a baseball cap, a clump of navy hair resting solidly on the bridge of his nose. A shapeless blob of a person, meaningless and empty. Shuichi thought he looked repulsive even as he dutifully searched for the beauty Rantaro claimed was in the picture. This human was so unhealthy and sallow. It was depressing. He had always known he preferred Rantaro’s natural glow, a vibrant but subdued sunniness._

_Rantaro pulled the photo back towards himself, and Shuichi’s attention returned as he saw his boyfriend stare at the photo with a small, wistful smile._

_“This is a good photo of you,” he said with a butter-like quality, his eyes curving into those clever, tangerine shapes, “I love how surprised you look.”_

 

Shuichi was above him on the bed, positioned between wide open legs. Kokichi’s lips parted, showing a hint of white teeth. He had unbuttoned his shirt and exposed his bandaged chest; he was silently grateful that none of the wounds seemed to have popped open again after all of Kokichi’s struggling. He had restocked on gauze during his shopping trip, but it was just a hassle to have to redress him so soon. The lustful eying of the grocery store clerk put him in a bad mood, and the news report today had only made it worse. He saw that blob-like figure staring at him from a stack of newspapers, gruesomely virtuous, someone he knew to be himself but couldn’t recognize. _Police say ‘possible link’ between third missing teen and serial killer in XXX area._

It was according to plan, he thought. But he wasn’t sure what the plan was anymore.

His left hand splayed over Kokichi’s stomach, the other not even remotely responding in his sleep.

He imagined carving that neat I shape into him and unspooling his organs, pinning down the flaps of his abdomen like a dissected frog. Kokichi would cry and shake and vomit, and Shuichi would open up his large intestine and see the food he had made for him digesting in a mass of acidic flesh. Let it sit on the outside of his body, let him lie until his skin turned a muddy gray and all he could say were dying murmurs. Shuichi would put his ear down to his mouth and hear his final words.

“Hey, Kokichi, wake up.” He shook the asleep boy back and forth, and it took a few moments before Kokichi woke up with a jolt and a startled hiss. His gaze was bleary as he looked around, disoriented after waking so suddenly — then his body began trembling sweetly as he fixated on his captor, the vibrations traveling through his bed and through his hand on his stomach. This kid was always shaking, even when Shuichi wasn’t expressly threatening him, or doing anything at all, really. Violet eyes shot to the Polaroid camera in Shuichi’s right hand.

“Round two?” Shuichi hadn’t planned on saying that, something spoken purely on sadistic whim, and he bristled with gratification as he felt the other’s breath hitch, upper body tensing as he tried to pull himself away. Kokichi shook his head fervently, with more energy now that his body wasn’t being weighed down with excruciating pain.

“Can’t, no, can’t,” Kokichi whimpered, mouth ajar as he took in deep breaths.

 

_Eyes closed. The slight gritting of teeth. Shuichi stared down at him, watching a cute, soft face morphed into harsh edges with concentration._

_What are you thinking so hard about, Kokichi?_

_He felt the gun moving in his hand, and the ledge of Kokichi’s tongue that held his gag reflex twitched lewdly against metal. The smaller boy spasmed, outline of his mouth shuddering. Bubbling tears gathered in the pink rim of his eyelids._

_What are you doing? Shuichi was a little in awe of him. Don’t you know you’re about to die?_

_The gun readjusted, but he felt suddenly obsessed with the way Kokichi fought against the thing in his throat, the way his eyelashes quivered as he retched, the way he convulsed as his eyebrows pulled up._

_Kokichi’s mouth. Kokichi was pretty._

_Are you trying to make me happy, Kokichi?_

 

His mind refocused, and he had jammed his fingers into Kokichi’s mouth, watching him gurgle as he tried to speak around his hand. His insides were always so warm and drooling wet. Shuichi didn’t remember getting into this position. He really had to stay focused this time. He still had chores to do and people to deal with. Maki was waiting for him in the living room, most likely livid. He somehow had no doubt that she had heard them fucking, even as they remained oblivious in the midst of drowning in heat, and he became aware that he was hard again as his hips brushed against the other’s.

“Nuhh —” Kokichi slurred as the fingers slid further back. This was bad, Shuichi thought, how enthralling it was to feel him choke, the sensation of his throat constricting around his hand. He caught his mouth beginning to water. This was really bad. Dangerous, even. His fingers slid out of the mouth, saliva dribbling over his chin, wanton glistening. There was a weird prickling on his skin as he heard Kokichi sniffling pathetically.

“Can you smile? And can you do peace signs with both hands? Like this?” Shuichi gestured as an example, giving him a sparkling grin, fingers posed in a V-for-victory signal at either side of his face. The camera tilted precariously in his grip as he saw Kokichi’s face corkscrew with bewilderment. But his intentions were clear enough that he didn’t need any further explanation, even if he couldn’t understand why he would take a photo of such a thing or what he would use it for. “If you can do that, then I’ll give you dinner.”

There was conflict dancing in Kokichi’s eyes as he considered the offer, and he weakly raised his hands up to his face, lifting up four fingers that curled forward like bunny ears. His mouth twitched, like he was having trouble remembering what a happy person looked like. But he finally attempted a smile. The corners of his mouth dipped into the fat of his cheeks. There was no strength, no conviction in it, and somehow Shuichi liked it better that way.

The white camera clicked and whirred.

 

_One message from Rantaro. Shuichi saw his phone but made no move to reach for it. He didn’t want to move at all. He swaddled himself under thick blankets, packed so tightly that he had started to sweat from the cocoon of body heat. A pointless barrier to separate himself from the outside of the world._

_He thought of bridges and wind. He remembered the shoes he wore to the occasion. Dark brown, newly polished oxfords. Everything was blue, the sky and the ocean. He remembered a prayer, something the white-haired girl said under her breath._

_“Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.”_

_Please be quiet._

_“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”_

_You’re so annoying._

_After all that, Shuichi wondered if God had granted her wish, allowed her into heaven. He wouldn’t have to build her a set of angel wings, because Shuichi had carved those out from her back, loose, thin pieces of meat._

_And he still didn’t want to talk to Rantaro._

_He didn’t want to be at home. His father’s steps were resounding around him like an imminent earthquake. He was soil that he planted blooming bruises on, spectacular sights that were always closed to the public. We’re fully booked, so sorry about any inconveniences. The cuts on his back ached. A drop of sweat was outlining his cheek._

_It was pointless to avoid it. He would look at the message eventually, so he might as well get it over with. Shuichi opened his phone._

_It was a photo attachment, no text: an aerial shot of some blond girl he didn’t recognize laying on the interior of a car that he also didn’t recognize. Her hair was mussed badly, strands sticking wetly to her neck, cheeks rashy and glistening. She gave a big smile to the camera, her hands raised in dual peace signs, a taunting victory pose. Rantaro’s unmistakable, ring-covered hand cupped around her face._

_I don’t feel anything. He reminded himself of this. I cannot feel anything. The phone was shaking in his hands._

_What are you trying to do? Rantaro, what do you want me to do?_

_He closed his eyes._

 

Shuichi held the photo up. The other dropped his face, reddening with shame, his body lax with defeat. The laminated photo paper made a waggling noise as Shuichi shook it. “Look.”

Kokichi had started crying quietly again. With blurry vision, he raised his eyes fearfully.

Shuichi couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Death will only promise someone relief. It will never deliver, because it will come too late for people to receive it. A corpse will never feel again, only bobbing in a course of darkness. So living and dying — it’s all the same. It’s all a result of suffering. You understand what I’m saying, right, Shuichi?_

Shuichi always had trouble describing how he felt. Most people could feel happy and know they were happy, and there were times where he was so abrasively ecstatic that saying he was ‘happy’ would be true enough. But there was always something missing from words, too brief or simple or long or elaborate. English was not suited to describe things he felt.

As he stood in front of Kaede with a plate of food, he didn’t know how to describe his feelings.

Kaede looked up at him with glassy eyes, body rapidly thinning and fragile. Her shirt was still split down the middle, but it seemed she no longer really cared about covering herself up. There was a part of him that wanted to sew that cloth back together, tired of seeing the way her chest swelled and quaked when he came down. He didn’t really want to give her a change of clothes; spending money on her was a waste, and giving her a shirt of his would just leave a bad taste in his mouth. She didn’t belong in them.

He wondered if he was being too nice to her. He planned for her to suffer before she died, but it seemed so worthless now. Was there even a point in doing any of that? It would never be enough. Kaede could scrape off every piece of her skin by herself and offer it up to him on a platter, and he would not be happy. Never enough. He set the plate down in front of her, but she made no move to take it. She just stared at him with those waning, wet eyes. He took a step back, gestured to it with the wave of an arm.

She carefully took the plate and utensils, starting to cut into the hamburger steak. But she still didn’t eat, following him with her gaze. Shuichi irritably stared back at her. What are you waiting for? You’re so detestable. Eat the damn food. Eat it. Eat it already. I want to leave.

She stabbed the piece she cut with her fork, but she didn’t raise it to her mouth. Her eyes dashed around the floor nervously. Did she forget how to eat? Was she that dumb?

Her lips parted. “Wh-What h —”

“ _Eat the food!_ ” Shuichi screamed, his foot cracking the wood of the island as he kicked it hard, and Kaede gave a breathy, startled gasp. She obediently shoved the food into her mouth, tears free flowing as she hurried to comply. Choking down the meat she was forgetting to properly chew, Shuichi thought of a pig, snorting and moist with mud and feces. He couldn’t remember how he had brought himself to touch her, even for the sake of revenge. He had gone through all that. It didn’t feel real.

He felt the photo paper bend around the curve of his thigh, scrunching slightly in his pocket, and he pulled it out, smoothing it down in his hands. The crinkled image of Kokichi from the waist up flashed, the boy carrying an expression like he was going to shatter if he was touched too firmly. Someone haphazardly glued together. That fake smile limped on his pallid face, something he put out despite his sheer lack of strength, body bruised and scratched inside out.

Kaede was still looking at him like she was seeking his approval.

_What are you looking at me for? Do you want me to tell you that you did a good job or something? Do you need the praise that badly? If I let you go right now, would you even be mad at me? Would you just ignore me for a few days before you text me again, asking to meet up and talk? I can’t believe Rantaro picked someone like you over me. Like I could believe that. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you for even thinking that you can._

He crouched down.

“Kokichi’s having fun with me,” Shuichi said, and he waved the photo in front of her. She stared at the glossy print like she couldn’t comprehend what she saw, her irises full and open as her eyes widened. That reaction — okay. It was acceptable. It felt good. Right? Did it feel good to have her see this? Did he feel happy? Did she even remember her own photo from half a year ago?

There was something that froze him. A heat that trickled into his veins, a weird squeeze of his heart. He realized he never had to consider with Kokichi if things were good — if he flinched, if he cried, if he begged, then it was _good._ Was this — was this nearly as good?

There was some kind of jealousy that shot through him, an anger at Kaede that erupted despite it purely stemming from his actions, so blatantly that he couldn’t even twist it to make it her fault — he had shown this sort of thing to someone who couldn’t appreciate Kokichi at all. Kaede could never understand the attractiveness of Kokichi’s weakness, his selflessness, his teary red eyes. She couldn’t even appreciate Rantaro’s reality, his absolute savagery. She was someone who was only interested in how she looked next to them, how they could add to her like charms she would buy on a bracelet.

Shuichi’s body moved before he commanded it, picking up the plate of half-finished food and snatching the fork away from her. Kaede retracted her hand towards her cleavage, clearly alarmed by his sudden anger. Disgusting. Filty. Bitch. The words slammed together in his head, blaring loud and clear until they formed a single unified sound. _Disgustingfilthybitch._ The plate skittered as he tossed it away, food precariously dangling on the rounded edges.

She was not allowed to see. She didn’t even deserve to speak.

 

_Shuichi was red. His hands were joined with red hair, pensively patting it down. The girl under the hair was crying. Her tears were red. He was surprised that she could still cry despite her eyes having been ground to mush behind her eyelids. The razor was stained a pretty red, sitting on the concrete next to her body, resting now that it had fulfilled its purpose. Her hair was red. She was red, and he was red, and it was beautiful. Shuichi thought to himself as blood seeped under his nails._

Stain me. I want to be pretty. I want to be red and beautiful. Rantaro can kiss me with that red syrup on my face, crawling in between my lips and teeth, and I’ll taste like candy.

_She had a unique way of crying, a high whining noise that tickled him in the deepest parts of his head. It made his ear canals itch. He was struck with the fact that he didn’t remember her name anymore — what was it again? Hanna? Hiyoko? H-something-or-other. It didn’t matter since he already had the card stock written down, tucked away safely in the desk, eggshell creamy clean._

_There wasn’t much time left. He had to work quickly. Tenderly, he placed the thin metal chopstick into her ear until it hit an obstruction._

_It was really bothering him that he couldn’t remember her name. What was it? Hanako-Hinata-Hitomi. She was screaming, wriggling under her restraints as Shuichi gripped the lacquered wooden handle of the hammer. It brushed against the end of the chopstick as he lined it up, and her voice was picking up in volume. How is she even still conscious? Whatever he had shot into her really worked its magic. Red dripped from her eyes._

_Listen. Listen very closely. She’ll speak only once more, and then she will never speak again._

_Hikaru-Hime-Himi-Himiko — ! That’s right!_

_The name shined brightly at him._

_That was your name! Himiko!_

_“Nononono! Please save me! Help me! Mom, mom!”_

_Ah, that’s a good choice. Kind of a cliche, but not one that was so overused that it no longer stabbed at people’s hearts. Shuichi was sure her mother would be pleased if she ever found out._

_He raised the hammer._

 

“Don’t throw up, don’t you dare throw up,” Shuichi found himself speaking without realizing it. His mind refocused again. What was he doing? Pliers forced into Kaede’s mouth, the ridges of the claws gripping onto one of her front canines. There was a muffled shrieking, her hands clawing at his wrists, his arms, trying to get his hands away. He didn’t remember why he had started doing this, when he had even got up and gotten the pliers. Looking to the side, the plate of food was gone.

This was ridiculous. He had come this far. She sounded like a feral animal, desperately screaming as she scrambled to tear herself away. Rancid thoughts. _Rantaro? This is the kind of person you liked? Is this how you saw me? You’re wrong. I’m going to make sure she can never do this to another person, ever again. All the blood in the world couldn’t make her pretty._ His hands firmly grasped her jaw.

He pulled the pliers down hard, and Kaede’s head jerked forward with the force, but the tooth didn’t come out. She started crying harder, squealing noises like someone would hear at a slaughterhouse. Animal parts being ground up into pork from two spinning wheels in a chute. Her nails dug into him hard enough to break skin. He twisted his hand to the right and yanked down again, and there was a crack as one of the roots awkwardly snapped, the shattered enamel lodged in her gums.

Gurgling, like thick, soapy water going down a drain. Crying was one of the best parts, but hearing Kaede cry was somehow just sickening. What did she have to cry about? _I’m the one who wants to fucking cry!_ The statement thudded in his brain, loud, bass boosted, and he jerked his wrist to the side and pulled again and with a disgusting sound the tooth gave way and his hand popped out of her mouth, slamming with force into his knee, a spray of blood on the stretchy fabric of his dark sweatpants.

He swiped a stained shirt sleeve across his forehead. A waterfall was pouring from her mouth. Her hands were sliding over red lips, moving hysterically like she was trying to keep all the blood inside of her. The canine was still wedged in between the nose of the pliers, soaked, red.

This is what Rantaro liked, right? Was it what he _liked_?

 

 

 

 

 

Kokichi sat on the bed with the empty plate hobbling in his lap. Shuichi had come in with dinner, as he promised. Hamburger steak, rice and roasted vegetables on the side. Maki hadn’t been lying when she told him that Shuichi was a good cook, but he sort of hated that Shuichi had any good qualities at all. He didn’t want to afford him any compliments, no matter how benign.

His stomach was starting to hurt. The organ was growling angrily at him, the food having expanded it too quickly, an uncomfortable sensation deep inside of him. At least his cuts were calmed and quiet now. All of the areas Shuichi had touched him had numbed down completely. Whatever Shuichi had given him, it was strong, and it felt almost nice to feel nothing.

The door knocked open and Kokichi jumped in shock, the plate clattering noisily as he caught it, preventing it from falling onto the floor.

Shuichi came in with a plastic bucket, unceremoniously setting out down on Kokichi’s lap over the cleaned plate. The ceramic clattered loudly against the metal fork, a cacophonous and grating sound.

Kokichi looked at him, and he didn’t want to look at him anymore. The way Shuichi’s face had darkened, the way his gaze swam like a swarm of awful thoughts were going through his head, rapidly clicking like a slideshow. There was something _wrong_ with him, even worse than he had been before. His expression was indescribable, something unreal, an emotion that humans were never meant to see or emote. Dark and murky like a swamp, the dread crawled on him.

“Hey, tell me,” Shuichi barked, Kokichi shrinking back from his voice, “What does Kaede have that I don’t?”

Kokichi didn’t have time to process the question, let alone answer it. There was no possible answer he could’ve given anyway that would have been satisfactory, had the question been serious. The cut off was almost a blessing.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Shuichi said, and his hand dipped into his pocket. He tossed a ziploc bag at Kokichi, fast enough that it smacked him in the face before he could react, bouncing off the fat of his cheek and off of the plastic bucket onto his pelvic bone. He saw the smears of blood covering chunky pieces of ivory. One, two, three, four. His skin turned cold. He understood the bucket was for him to throw up in if he needed to.

Shuichi was laughing, an off kilter, inhuman sort of laughter. “I’ll tell you one thing, she doesn’t have as many teeth as me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. some good tidbits of me and my friends discussing my fic on discord
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/A1Zq4W9
> 
> My UN is henkitry#5788, please feel free to hit me up if you want to talk!


	24. LEAVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : third passage has a noncon/dubcon scene, please be wary of this. To skip all mentions of noncon, you may stop reading at "laying on the bed now" and begin again at "as Shuichi moved away".
> 
> mentions of suicide attempts, past murder, abuse.

Kokichi looked mutedly at the bag in his lap. It was odd, seeing the white teeth stained with a goopy layer of red, and not feeling the urge to scream. He may just not have had a scream prepared. The reveal was too quick and haphazardly explained for it to properly register — he saw the teeth and almost thought they weren’t real.

Shuichi was staring at him, eyes searching for something in Kokichi’s reaction. His pupils expanded like a stuck camera shutter, eagerly wanting to capture his captive’s reaction, but Kokichi didn’t have an interesting one to give him. The smaller boy swallowed against the lump in his throat, weak, thin fingers curling around the edges of the bucket in his lap. Words had completely escaped him, mind blank and useless. He had no idea what to say. He wasn’t even really nauseous at Shuichi’s inappropriate gift; his stomach only held the small throbbing pain from before, but it wasn’t swelling or twisting like it normally would when he was panicked.

So Kokichi sat quietly, knuckles whitening, wondering why he wasn’t feeling sick. He only felt mildly breathless, his lungs shrinking from shock. It was ridiculous to expect a verbal answer out of him at this point anyway. He had trouble speaking up even when things had been normal, and there was no how-to manual he could refer to when it came to Shuichi.

Shuichi noticed the other’s loss for words, and his hand moved over Kokichi’s, his crazed expression beginning to calm.

“You don’t need to throw up?” Shuichi questioned. There was a pause before Kokichi shook his head slowly, his eyes fixated on the bucket’s hollow bottom and the way he could see the shadowy outline of the plate through the synthetic material.

“You’re sure? I won’t be mad if you do,” Shuichi asked again, and Kokichi shook his head with more confidence this time, trying to ignore the baggie of teeth still on his lap. Their hands separated as Shuichi cupped Kokichi’s chin, moving his head so that they faced each other. Kokichi’s eyes dropped down when he saw Shuichi’s intense gaze, choosing to study the elaborate embroidery of the bedsheets instead.

There was a hushed whisper. “Look at me.”

Kokichi looked up to meet the golden stare shining back at him. Shuichi had fully settled down, eyes pristine and inquisitive, like he had hit the calm center of a raging storm. Silent and analytical. A thumb pressed into Kokichi’s lower lip, and his mouth opened slightly, the bottom row of teeth peeking over the indent created by Shuichi’s finger. All present and accounted for, Kokichi bitterly thought.

“I knew it. Kokichi is always good.”

Shuichi kissed him. Kokichi’s hands patted the mattress as he was pulled forward, flinching as they accidentally brushed against the bag of teeth. The hard pieces of enamel were slippery through their plastic covering, and Kokichi unthinkingly knocked it out of his lap and onto the carpet. For a moment, the two boys moved together, Shuichi starting to lean over the bed as Kokichi carefully fell backwards, the bucket and plate jostling loudly in his lap as his legs shifted under them.

In the midst of everything, Kokichi remembered that Kaede was still downstairs, most likely sobbing as blood dripped from her mouth, gums fleshy and torn open. _Is Kaede okay? Is she still alive?_ The questions burned in the back of his throat as he firmly decided against asking. Even in the haze of pain, he held onto Shuichi’s warning as he was being ripped apart from the inside.

(Don’t ever ask me about Kaede or anyone else ever again.)

Maybe Kokichi could rephrase his questions, gather information about his friend without appearing too obvious. But now wasn’t the time — his own vulnerability was too glaring for him to consider it. The way Shuichi looked at him when he entered the room, the front of his shirt speckled with brown, frightened him more than the teeth on the floor or his stalker waiting outside. It felt like a sign: things will only get worse from here. Shuichi is starting to spiral, so behave and you may be spared.

He knew his only chance of survival now was to keep Shuichi happy. It might be enough to save himself, even if he had no idea what would happen to Kaede. This was the only angle he had.

Kokichi closed his eyes and gently kissed him back.

 

 

 

 

 

Night fell quickly afterward. After their kiss had broken, Shuichi had emptied the other’s lap. The bag of teeth was picked up from the floor, falling into the bucket with a small thunk. Carrying it outside, Shuichi gave a thoughtful murmur that was spoken mostly into the container: “Maybe I can throw the hair away now?”

Kokichi saw the light behind the blackout curtains fall from a brilliant white to a saturated orange-pink, and he watched the colors morph until he saw no light shining behind them at all. He wished he could peek out and see the sunset. It felt like ages since he had been outside, smelled dirt and trees, heard birdsong and the roar of traffic outside his own window. Looked at a damn cloud. Even the sound of crickets didn’t penetrate the walls of this house. He wondered how that was even possible.

Shuichi returned to turn the lights on once the room was completely darkened. The yellow, artificial lamp overhead flickered on, causing Kokichi to painfully squint his eyes as he noticed the shopping bag hooked onto Shuichi’s forearm. The other saw the confusion on his face, gave a placid smile back. He shook the bag. “I sent Maki out to get some stuff.”

Shuichi unlocked the handcuffs off one of his wrists and led him to the bathroom. On his feet again, it startled him how unsteady his own limbs felt, and with the chain willing him forward, Kokichi thought of a pet and the way an owner would yank on its leash: _c’mere, little puppy, we have to go._ There was at least a brief moment of freedom when Shuichi left, allowing him to relieve himself in peace, but it didn’t change the fact that Shuichi was right outside the door, waiting for his signal to come back inside.

The bag contained a toothbrush, a small washcloth, a water ladle. Shuichi locked the other handcuff onto himself as they stood in front of a counter with dual sinks, propped under a large spanning mirror. They cleaned up together like they were roommates, standing side by side, brushing their teeth in silence. Kokichi hadn’t really even thought about it, but it had been a long time since he was allowed to properly clean himself; his gums were stinging, a small trickle of blood washing over his teeth as he brushed, and he quickly spit out the paste to avoid thinking about what had transpired.

Shuichi never stopped looking at him, even with the other end of the cuffs secure on his own wrist.

 

 

 

 

 

Laying on the bed now, Kokichi felt like sleep was an impossible concept. He had been locked back onto the headboard, off-center this time, laying on the side with the nightstand. In another part of the room, Shuichi was changing clothes for the third time that day, pulling on the sleep shirt that Kokichi recognized from his sleepover. That event felt like it was forever ago. A lot of his old life felt like a distant memory, like he had only dreamed it up one night and none of it had actually happened. There was a small thrill of fear that shot its way into his chest at the thought: if he couldn’t escape, would he just stay like this… forever? Would someone finally find him years later, only to discover that he couldn’t remember a single thing about his life before the kidnapping?

The mattress swayed as Shuichi laid down beside him. Hands positioned Kokichi onto his side, facing away from the other as Shuichi’s chest pressed into Kokichi’s back. Open-mouthed breaths washed over his neck, weirdly chilling despite their warmth. Kokichi froze as an arm wrapped around his waist.

The pain was beginning to flare up again as Shuichi pulled their bodies closer, the motion placing a faint pressure on his bandaged wounds. Kokichi desperately wanted to go to sleep. _Please, isn’t everything we did today enough?_ Asking would be pointless. He could already tell what was coming. Every day was different, yet it all felt the same. 

Long lashes tickled Kokichi’s shoulder. The combination of Shuichi’s closeness to him and the thick blanket covering his body made Kokichi feel clammy and unpleasant.

“Are you cold?” Shuichi murmured into his back, “You’re shaking.”

Shuichi’s ankle shoved itself into the gap between Kokichi’s calves, intertwining their legs. The smaller boy eked out a small “no.” It was obvious why he was shaking, but Shuichi kept his facade of naivete.

“You’ll be tired tomorrow if you don’t go to sleep,” Shuichi said, a frown in his voice despite the obvious smile he was pressing into the crook of Kokichi’s neck. The soft, intimate way he was holding on to him made everything more disconcerting — it felt like a scene from a movie, two lovers huddling close to stay warm on a cold night, a romantic scene if the cuffs that were keeping him in place were ignored. The bandages made him feel near claustrophobic as the curve of his back fit perfectly into the hollow space created by Shuichi’s stomach. A matching puzzle piece. He became painfully aware of the fact that he was still naked from the waist down.

A wandering hand found the spot where Kokichi’s hip jutted out, fingers brushing over stretched skin. Kokichi remained paralyzed, eyes wide but looking at nothing.

“I have trouble sleeping too.” The whisper glowed like a hot stamp on his neck. “Rantaro would normally help me go to sleep. He’d hold me real close like this.”

Kokichi flinched as a burning tongue licked across the sensitive skin between his neck and shoulder. Shuichi’s teeth rubbed over the space, testing its pliancy before pushing down, incisors indenting his body, and Kokichi gave a wavering cry as his small hands curled into fists.

“Ah — ow,” he whimpered, turning to bury his face into the pillow. Shuichi’s hand snaked downward between his legs, fingertips brushing the insides of his thighs. “N-no…”

His quiet pleading was ignored, as always. The hand found his member, soft and flaccid, and gingerly clasped around its circumference. Shuichi was still lapping gently at his neck as he moved his hand. The light stroking and the wetness of Shuichi’s mouth, sucking at his neck — Kokichi didn’t want to admit it, but it felt nice, and he felt himself hardening in Shuichi’s hold as the other kissed upwards, outlining the shell of his ear with his tongue. A breathy moan floated out of Kokichi’s mouth, against his will.

“Good boy.” The words expanded and rose like a cloud. This wasn’t the first time Shuichi had called him that, but it felt more belittling this time. Kokichi tried to twist away from his touch only to find his retreat was blocked by the other’s hips. His legs trembled under the heavy weight of the covers.

“Shuichi —” Kokichi couldn’t tack on his standard plea, a ‘no’ or ‘don’t’ or ‘stop’ like he would normally say in protest. The words were snatched away as he felt fingers drag over the tip of his cock, spreading the gathering precum over the head as it tortuously swirled around it. He was shaking violently, shoulders trying to turn away from Shuichi at all costs. It was like a trail of heat was being left by his touch. Kokichi wanted nothing more than for Shuichi to stop touching him, even though it felt so good that tears were sprouting in his eyes. His body was screaming for something finally pleasurable, aching from the constant barrage of pain and the waiting to be in pain again. But this wasn’t it. It couldn’t be it.

Shuichi would never give him something without expecting something else in return. The detective always made him beg and cry for everything he wanted: painkillers, food, Kaede’s life. The prices for the good things were especially high; even sleeping on this bed was prefaced by a rigged game of Russian roulette. So for something like this, there had to be a price, something ridiculous and unfair that let Shuichi have all the control.

Kokichi gave a shuddering exhale as Shuichi picked up pace, pushing his face into the pillow further. His entire lower body felt hot. It was hot, but not in the bad way, like their first time had felt when Shuichi had unwittingly sliced him into two halves. This was different — the way his fingers were sliding over him, expertly pressing into all his most pleasurable spots as he stroked him up and down, his arm holding Kokichi in place even as he squirmed — it was a delicious, near-uncomfortable kind of heat that consumed him. His entire body was starting to shake as much as his legs were, arms quivering next to his buried face.

“Ghh, ah, hah —” The noises leaked from his mouth, muffled by fabric and cotton, the muscles in his stomach tensing as he felt electricity firing through his nerves. He wished that he had some kind of pleasant memory to fall back on, someone he could think about so he could leave his body and pretend it was them instead. But his lack of experience was playing against him, and Shuichi’s other hand was now crawling over the front of his throat, squeezing him just hard enough that he lost his train of thought along with his breath. “Ghhk —”

“Tell me what I want to hear,” Shuichi whispered, his tongue sliding slowly across the back of Kokichi’s neck. Kokichi swallowed, tasting his own fear in his saliva. His body wouldn’t stop shaking.

“I-I,” Kokichi cried out sharply, his high-pitched voice vulgar in his ears, the heat stacking until it rose to his throat. Tears overflowed, quietly absorbed by the pillow. “I, hah, love y-you — ah!” He twitched again as he felt Shuichi’s hand squeeze around his length, a pleased hum from the male behind him. Kokichi grit his teeth. God, this was pathetic. Nauseating. _Disgusting._ He didn’t want to feel good because Shuichi was touching him, but he couldn’t run away at all, and he was becoming increasingly aware of the erection that was grinding into his lower back. His sobs disguised themselves as they weaved between equally vile moans. 

This felt bad. This felt disgusting.

It felt _good._

He started rocking against Shuichi’s hand, a whine catching in his throat as sparks shot through his spine. His hips wiggled under the stimulation, white-heat blossoming in his stomach. Heard himself panting as he desperately rutted against his captor’s grip. A revolting reaction — you shouldn’t be responding like this. You’re supposed to be fighting back. He was so, so close. He grit his teeth harder, jaw turning sore.

Something rippled through his entire being, causing all his muscles to squeeze at once. He gasped loudly as he came, a strangled mewl muted by the hand on his throat. He shut his eyes so hard that his vision went spotty.

There was a moment where everything stilled, and Kokichi collapsed without really moving, body utterly relaxed and swallowed up by the mattress. He was heaving with deep breaths as he came down, shivering once as Shuichi’s hand left him, fingers sticky with cum. There was a creak as the detective reached under the bed to grab at a box of tissues. He wiped off his fingers thoroughly.

It felt like no time at all before Shuichi mounted him, turning Kokichi over onto his stomach. Kokichi’s hands balled into fists again, nails scraping the bedsheets. The drawer beside him was sliding open. He kept his face buried in the pillow.

“Shuichi,” Kokichi said weakly, body humming with the afterglow, “Can… can you go slower this time?”

The body over him stopped for a moment.

A small kiss was pressed onto his shoulder. 

“Sure.”

 

 

 

 

 

Kokichi woke up to the smell of warm fruit.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

It was daylight. As he blinked the grogginess from his eyes, he saw the sunlight glowing from behind the curtains. There was a clatter on the nightstand next to him, and Kokichi turned to see Shuichi already up, placing down a plate of food. Two crepes filled with strawberries, dusted with powdered sugar and jam. Beside it, there was a paper towel, a cup of water, and two white pills already laid out.

The gesture was so domestic, like Shuichi was taking care of him because he was ill. Partially true; the way Shuichi was doting on him made him feel sick.

Memories of last night washed over his brain. Shuichi had prepared him more thoroughly that time, entered slowly like he promised, but the sensation was still painful enough that Kokichi could hardly bear it. He started sobbing uncontrollably a few minutes in, begging Shuichi to pull out as the other peppered his back with floaty kisses and bruising bite marks. He couldn’t remember if he had finished or if he had passed out before then. Fingers touched the indents on his shoulder, bright and red and stinging.

As Shuichi moved away, Kokichi saw Maki standing by the doorway, sullenly guarding his exit. Her expression darkened as they met eyes. He knew that she would be displeased that he had earned Shuichi’s ‘favor’, understood that the moment he screamed he loved him just in hopes of getting him away. At least Maki was always easy to read. Her motivations were simple and direct, a quality he could appreciate even though it barely worked to his advantage. If she decided to attack him, he wasn’t capable of defending himself — Shuichi was the only thing keeping him safe from her.

“Eat.” Shuichi said. The smaller boy jumped, having temporarily forgotten the detective was there, violet orbs scrambling to meet his gaze. Shuichi carried an uncharacteristically genial smile on his face as the other slowly rose from the bed. Kokichi couldn’t understand why Maki was here and bit back the questions lingering on the tip of his tongue, obediently gulping down the two pills before taking the plate into his hands.

The pastry was soft. The strawberries and sugar were sweet, but not enough to make his teeth ache. Shuichi was flitting about the bathroom, door wide open as he started the tub faucet, the roar of rushing water echoing on tile like a concert hall. Breakfast was good, and it was on time, and that was so relieving that Kokichi almost cried on the spot. His throat swelled, closing with emotion. Shuichi poured soap into the gradually filling tub, bubbles foaming on the water’s surface.

A bubble bath. A warm vanilla scent lingered into the bedroom, homey and comforting. His mother loved vanilla smells. He had gotten her a vanilla bean candle for her 45th birthday, the wax white like snow in clear glass. Kokichi tried to chew more thoroughly as it became more difficult to swallow.

Maki was just staring at him.

The crepe was nearly gone when Shuichi turned the faucet off. Kokichi shoved the last of the food into his mouth, the toasted, browning edges crumbling as he bit into the last piece of fruit, a final burst of sweetness. A selection of shirts, pants, and underwear were taken out of the dresser and draped over Shuichi’s arm, and he laid them out on the bathroom counter, neatly folded and pristine.

The plate was returned to its place on the nightstand. Shuichi finally approached him, a metal, rod-shaped key swinging in one hand.

“I’m going to take the cuffs off now. Don’t try to run.” The warning was enunciated at every point, as if to relieve any hint of misunderstanding. Shuichi glanced over at Maki once before returning his gaze back to his prisoner. So that’s why she was there — in case Shuichi had any trouble handling him. The brunette didn’t look ecstatic about the development either, but she remained diligently at attention, eyes trained on him as he gave a single nod. The key fumbled to unlock the cuffs, a grating vibration on his wrists as they fell off.

Kokichi tried to stand and was alarmed by how weak his footing was. His limbs had felt unsure the night before, but now they wobbled violently, dangerously unreliable under his body weight. The strength in his legs gave out as pain shot through his hips, and he tumbled into Shuichi’s arms, outstretched and ready to catch him. Any attempts at moving his legs properly again was met with a pounding ache in his pelvis.

After a few moments of struggling, Shuichi all but carried him to the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

Legs dipping into the bath, Kokichi sat quietly on the rim of the tub, the cool ceramic sticking to his skin as Shuichi undressed him. The undone shirt was easy enough to take off, but he took special care when unraveling the bandages wrapped around his chest. Looking down, Kokichi could see the lines of scabs on his torso that were struggling to heal. Angry, luminous streaks of red in an expanse of pale, colorless skin. He curiously rubbed his fingers over them. They felt like packed gravel.

Without warning, Shuichi hooked his arms under Kokichi’s shoulders and lowered him into the bath, a small squeak of surprise from the smaller boy as the heat washed over his wounds. The heat made the scabs itch terribly. Kokichi willed himself to focus on the other sensations soothing his body instead: the warmth that was spreading over his sore muscles, the sweat building on his hairline as he leaned back, the vanilla scent drowning out all other senses. His arms relaxed, and they felt like they were floating. If he wanted to, he could fall asleep in here.

The bubbles clouded his vision. He smelled something else under that strong scent of vanilla, something more subtle that he couldn’t place his finger on.

Shuichi brought out the water ladle from last night, a bright green matching the basin that Kokichi had found downstairs. Kokichi watched as the container dipped into the bath, water sloshing as it sucked into the newly empty space. Shuichi’s delicate hands pushed his forehead, prompting him to lean his head back, and the thick stream of water poured over his hair. Shuichi was taking care not to get it in his eyes. Kokichi closed his eyes anyway.

He didn’t mind Shuichi touching him like this. Handling him with care, like something easily breakable, barely a falsehood at this point. Dark scars peeked up at him through the foamy water. It could be worse. It could be a lot worse. He gathered his hands under the soap and brought them up to get palms full of rainbow-reflecting bubbles, admiring them as Shuichi squirted shampoo onto his scalp. Fingers intertwined with the dark locks of Kokichi’s hair. It was almost a massage, and his head began lolling forward as he sank into comfort.

There was a hollow sound as the ladle was picked up again.

“Kokichi, do you really love me?” Shuichi asked as he rinsed the other down, soap falling from him in torrents. Kokichi glanced at him curiously. The detective’s face was blank, expressionless as the ladle was submerged again in the water.

“… Yes?” Kokichi responded, but his voice sounded unconvincing even to himself. Shuichi stared at him. By instinct, Kokichi turned his gaze downward, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Are you lying to me because you think I’ll let you live?” The suspicion was clear from his tone of voice.

Kokichi tried to sound more definitive this time. “No.”

More water poured over his hair. Shuichi dropped his stare to focus on his ministrations. The water sloshed and the vanilla scent was still thick. An uncomfortable silence settled between them for a while before Shuichi spoke again.

“I’ll tell you a story. I promise it has a point, so listen closely, okay?” Shuichi said, the statement a command despite being phrased as a suggestion. He picked up the washcloth now, soaking it until it was saturated with water. Kokichi hadn’t answered, but Shuichi continued anyway. “Before I transferred to your school, I went to a high school the next town over. It was miserable. I didn’t have any friends, my mom was basically gone the entire time, and my dad — well. Most of the first year and a half wasn’t very good.” The washcloth wrapped around a bar of soap, lathering it thoroughly. Shuichi started wiping down Kokichi’s shoulders. “He broke my right arm once, and I learned how to write with my left hand because no one would help me write notes. If anything got dislocated, I figured out how to pop it back in myself. But I started walking weird, kind of slouching over all the time, and sometimes my legs would give out if I walked down stairs too fast. Standard boo-hoo-my-dad-hits-me stuff.”

Kokichi stared at the water. He didn’t know how to respond to this.

“The thing about the police is, they always stick together. What’s right and wrong doesn’t matter. They cover for themselves first. My dad could’ve shot me point blank in the face and they would’ve made some kind of excuse for him.” Shuichi laughed, an unusually easy chuckle, like he had just told Kokichi an amusing anecdote. The washcloth rubbed in circles between his shoulder blades. “Uh, I think at the end of the first year was when I met Rantaro… ? I don’t remember the exact date. A lot of it is a blur.”

The ladle poured a warm waterfall over his back, the soap draining from his skin in streams.

“H-how did you meet him?” Kokichi asked, feeling as though he had to say something.

The water splashed. Shuichi’s mouth pressed into a thin line, obviously displeased. “I was going to jump off a bridge, and he pulled me off of it.” 

“Oh.” 

Stern eyes blinked back at him. “Don’t ask me questions. This isn’t an interview or anything.”

“… Sorry,” Kokichi whispered, choosing to look down into the bath water again.

“It’s okay. It was a weird experience. You think you’re going to fall down, but then you go flying in the opposite direction. Anyway.” Shuichi’s hands were starting to turn pink. “Rantaro and Tsumugi were both there, actually. We found out we all went to the same school, so we hung out a lot together, and things were good for a while. Then, um.” He paused for a moment, fighting a grin that was spreading on his lips. “I started noticing little things about Rantaro. Stuff like how he has these small, hidden dimples when he smiles, or how his eyes squint when he’s happy, or how he fiddles with his rings when he’s deep in thought. I would get really antsy when he talked to me, and I had to remind myself to breathe sometimes.” 

Soap bubbles danced over the water’s surface. Shuichi absent-mindedly rubbed his sleeve on his face, trying to reset his expression to no avail. He kept reluctantly smiling. Kokichi locked his own hands underwater, anxious as he listened.

“That’s what happens when you fall in love with someone, right? So I thought, I must love Rantaro a lot. A whole lot. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was everything, all the time.” The gold glittered in his eyes. “But — I was going to transfer schools after sophomore year, so I needed to confess fast. Otherwise, I, um… I felt like he would forget about me, or someone else was going to snatch him away.”

Quiet, invisible, forgettable, easily replaceable. Sounded like someone Kokichi knew.

“He was really popular, really handsome, so I’m sure… I’m sure a lot of other people wanted to be with him too. So,” Shuichi said with an air of finality, wringing out the washcloth, “Before I left, I gave him Tsumugi’s skull.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Kokichi should’ve seen it coming. Even as he anticipated it, his limbs chilled, and the previously warm bath felt utterly cold.

“I went through a lot of work. Beheading someone isn’t easy, you know? And to make the skull clean, I ended up boiling it in a pot of water. That way, the flesh and hair just kind of come off on its own. But the _smell_ — the smell was so bad. I threw up a couple of times.” A faint blush grew on Shuichi’s cheeks. He wasn’t fighting the smile anymore, letting it stretch over his face as he gushed. “I was _so_ nervous when I gave it to him, too. I didn’t know confessing could be so nerve-wracking. When he said we could date, I almost passed out. But I knew I got through to him that way, you know? That’s how I showed him I loved him, that I would do anything for him no matter what. Do you get where I’m going with this?”

Fingernails digging into water-softened knuckles, Kokichi closed his eyes and nodded. Yes, he knew exactly where this was going — he thought of Kaede sitting in the basement, frightened and alone and starving. He knew, and if Shuichi asked him, he wouldn’t have an answer. It was a cruel, sadistic choice, befitting his kidnapper to the fullest.

Shuichi inhaled softly as though to speak. _Would you kill to prove your love for me?_

There was a loud, sudden banging.

“What — ?” Shuichi snapped to attention, eyes startled and wide, looking towards the direction of the noise. 

The noise came from a room next to them, muted but still utterly imposing through the bathroom wall. Kokichi stared at him as if searching for some sort of explanation, but in the total silence, he began hearing more intricate details. The squeal of a door opening, the muffled, rising squabble of two people arguing passionately. One voice high-pitched, the other low. He couldn’t make out any of the words.

The detective sprang to his feet as he heard the thump of heavy footsteps. Shaking hands frantically locked the bathroom door.

Kokichi had never seen Shuichi this alarmed before. The high-pitched voice was squabbling in the background as the lower one went silent. Shuichi was taking the lid off of the toilet tank, ripping open a plastic bag taped underneath. A shiny black gun, police officer grade, bigger and clunkier than the revolver he had brought out before. The ceramic lid scraped back into place, and the male seated himself on the edge of the toilet seat.

“Dad?” Shuichi gave a hushed whisper, words trembling fearfully. Kokichi could only stare at the door, stare at Shuichi, stare at the door again. He had no idea what was going on. Shuichi’s father? Were the police here? But it sounded like the noises were only coming from two people. Surely, if it was them, they would’ve sent more people if they were under the impression a serial killer with several teenagers was present —

Another door slammed open. The sound was as clear as day. Whoever they were, they were in the bedroom now. Kokichi could tell the high-pitched voice he had heard was actually Maki’s, pleading and puling behind whoever this person was.

“I’m serious, Kaito, you can’t be in here! You need to leave!”

Kokichi felt his heart stop. Shuichi didn’t relax. He pointed the gun at the bathroom door.

“I’m not leaving until I see this bastard.” A familiar voice thudded in his ears. Strong and vibrant. Raging. “Do you know — I’ve been worried sick about you! You haven’t been keeping a straight conversation with me for weeks, and I thought — but you were just cheating on me?”

“It’s not like that! I keep telling you!” Maki’s voice rose higher. “If we just go outside, I can explain —”

“What’s there to explain? You’re supposed to be in Vegas right now, but I saw you drive out to the middle of nowhere to a house that’s not yours. You’ve been lying to me, seems straightforward.” Kaito’s voice was rumbling angrily. “Is he in here? The light is on.” The doorknob started twisting furiously. “Hey, come out here! I want to talk to you!”

“I’ll kill you,” Shuichi was whispering again, and Kokichi’s eyes widened as he saw the other hadn’t moved an inch, had no visual recognition of who the other person was. 

“Stop it! Kaito, stop!” Maki was shrieking.

Shuichi’s face glazed with panic, his consciousness fully shuttled elsewhere. He was living some other memory, lips moving like automation, “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you first. Just try me.”

A fist pounded on the door, rattling the thin slab of wood. The noise sounded in slow motion. 

_**Bang. Bang. Bang.** _

“Come out!” Kaito bellowed.

In an instant, Kokichi saw Shuichi’s pupils dilate, saw his finger twitch on the trigger.

“No — !” he shouted, much too late.

Shuichi fired the gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTICE!**
> 
> I'm going on a two and a half month hiatus due to work/travel - bwahaha!! I hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger I left for you guys.
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone's continued support and love for my work. It's been such a fulfilling time seeing everyone's reactions and theories and general compliments to me. I really appreciate everyone who has reached out to me.
> 
> P.S. I've gotten this question a few times: I would piss my pants if you drew fanart for this fic, please don't feel like you need to ask me. Just do it. Just do it and show me and I'll ship you my tears.
> 
> Thank you again!


	25. ME.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back from vacation -- Happy Halloween!
> 
> I will say if you notice a drop in quality or length, please forgive me -- being away for 3 months has seriously destroyed my brain LOL I'm trying my best to get back in the groove. Thank you for understanding.
> 
>  **IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT** : if I were to publish and sell bound, physical copies of this fic, would anyone be interested? Some chapters would be rewritten to be longer, include b/w art (from yours truly!), and have some extras at the end such as scrapped plot ideas, designs, and deleted passages, maybe a Q&A?
> 
> I just thought it would be a fun idea haha, please let me know what you think!

The gun wobbled in Shuichi’s hands.

He swallowed hard, his muscles faltering as he struggled to concentrate. The gun was supposed to be steady for his aim to be exact, but his inexperience with it was dawning on him. The weapon, black and heavy in his grip, shined, glossed from his father’s loving care. This was not his weapon, and Shuichi abruptly felt that it would not be loyal to him.

Or maybe it was simply because he had never held a gun like this before, poised to kill.

There was no going back now.

It had been days since he first tried to crack his father’s gun safe (the large, hulking glass cabinet — fortress, honestly — that housed a myriad of different firearms, a delicately balanced mix of business and pleasure), and Shuichi’s hands had shaken every consecutive time he had tried, right up to his success. His index finger carefully slid in front of the trigger. He could taste the salt from the sweat gathering on his upper lip. The lights of the bathroom were too bright. His vision was starting to wave back and forth.

He was shaking too hard. _Calm down. Calm down._

His father’s fists were slamming against the bathroom door.

Something was being shouted over the incessant thumping of his father attempting to kick the door down, but Shuichi barely registered what was being said. He was too distracted by the beads of sweat trickling down the curve of his jaw, blinking as he tried to get his vision to properly readjust, his pulse so loud that it hurt his ears. The gun steadied, pointed at the center of the wood paneling.

“D-Dad, leave me alone…! I’m serious, I’m going to — I’ll really shoot you!” Shuichi shouted as loud as he could, over the sounds of the door splintering under his father’s force, over the earth-shattering rumbling in his own body. The knocking refused to let up. Another bead of sweat — the door was too thin for it to hold up much longer. Its structure wasn’t made to handle someone as vicious as this.

Shuichi’s finger pushed the small lever in front of the trigger down, effectively disabling the safety. He could feel his body faltering again. He was starting to get light headed, begging the universe for this to end. _Please, just go away, just go away._ But the door wouldn’t stop caving in, a sure sign that his father was now trying to kick the door in. His elbows buckled. He swallowed against the bile threatening to purge itself.

A loud crack — the tip of his father’s shoe peeked through.

Shuichi pulled the trigger.

A deafening bang, and then the muscles in Shuichi’s arms tensed as it anticipated the force of the shot. But it wasn’t enough for him to fully absorb the inevitable recoil. His entire body jumped along with it, and in the shock, he slipped off the toilet cover he was sitting on and onto the tile, the gun skittering away from his hands.

There was a roar from the other side, like the murderous scream of a wounded animal, and the door finally caved in, the center of it opening up like a wooden vortex. Large, calloused hands were ripping it open, steadily revealing his father’s face, a swirling black hole of twisted rage.

By the time Shuichi had even registered that his barrier had given way, hands were buried in his dark hair, and he was already screaming purely from instinct.

“You _fucking idiot!_ ” The storm above him was thundering dangerously. “ _Do you have any idea what you’re doing?!_ ”

Slender hands were desperately fighting against their larger counterparts as he was dragged across the floor, his thin legs kicking uselessly at empty air.

“Stop, stop! Lemme go — !” Shuichi shrieked, but his body suddenly became too light, then too heavy, his chest slamming onto the floor, only partially cushioned by the carpet. A foot collided with his ribs, and the air popped out of him, bones cracking under the force, and the light was turning spotty, black circles swirling, until —

“Shuichi!” A foreign voice called out to him, and there was suddenly pressure on his left ankle. “Shuichi…!”

_Click and refocus._

His vision cleared.

The gun was in front of him, gripped tightly in his hands, ferociously shaking.

Splayed out on the carpet, Kokichi was gripping onto his ankle so tightly that Shuichi thought he might crack his bones. A roasted pinprick of a bullet hole smoked from Kaito’s left shoulder, blood spurting, and he was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling like a human earthquake. Shuichi shook his head violently, swiped the back of his hand across his chin to wipe away the sweat that was dripping down his face. Looking to his right, he saw a swatch of black hair fanned out over the floor. Charcoal on boring beige. Maki laid still on the ground.

“Shuichi, please,” Kokichi was blubbering, naked and weakly pulling on Shuichi’s leg, “Stop, please. I love you.” His face squeezed together in pain, a twisted vortex, rivulets of tears streaming over his cheeks. 

“Please let Kaito go.”

 

 

Kokichi watched in horror and then didn’t watch at all — the thunderous ring from the gun going off sent shockwaves through his skin, a tingling sensation that demanded his eyes instinctively close. The water sloshed over the side of the tub, splattering soap bubbles across the white tiling.

There was a cacophony of different noises that Kokichi could only determine small glimpses of: Maki’s shrieking, Kaito’s stuttering gasp, the rattling of the door as a body slammed forward into it. He saw shadows dance through the small hole in the door, a groan followed by a high-pitched sobbing scream. “Kaito? Kaito?!”

By the time he raised his head, Shuichi was standing, the gun still pointed squarely at the door. He was still inching forward, eyes glazed like he was in a battlefield. Kokichi had the horrifying realization that he was about to go outside of the bathroom, that he had most likely hit Kaito somewhere considering the thump and the groans of pain he had heard. There was no way Maki could stop him either.

Without really thinking about it, he tried to stand up, a shrill voice exploding from his chest, “Shuichi, wait! Stop! Stop!” But the pain shot through his hips again, and he slipped back into the tub, the water spilling over the edge of the tub again from the force of his movements. Shuichi didn’t turn around even a little bit, giving no indication that he had heard Kokichi or any of the other loud, blaring noises at all.

Shuichi slowly unlocked the door, slammed it open with his foot.

“No, Shuichi! _Shuichi!_ ” Kokichi was screaming. There had to be some method in reaching him. In his panic, he thought maybe the best way would be to physically touch him somehow. He swung his leg up over the edge of the tub, a pained moan hissed through gritted teeth as the pain shot through his bones again. He had to keep going. Kaito was out there. Please, please. It was like his thoughts were a plea to some higher power. _Please, for the love of God, I need Kaito to be safe, I need him to be okay!_

In the haze of his frustration and efforts, he heard Maki screaming. “Wait, you can’t! Don’t kill him! Shuichi, please!”

There was another gunshot. Despite it being farther away, Kokichi felt it was somehow louder than the previous one. He flinched violently, gripping onto the rim of the tub for dear life. He couldn’t catch any noise from Kaito this time — instead, he heard a strained grunting from Shuichi, and he dared to sneak a glance at the ensuing scene to see Maki grabbing onto Shuichi’s wrist, tears sprouting in her eyes as he fought hard against her grip. He couldn’t see Kaito at all. Where was he?

“Let go of me!” Shuichi was growling, the butt of the gun slamming hard against Maki’s skull, and she blubbered some unintelligible plea as she held onto his wrist as tightly as possible, her head dipping forward to protect her face. “Get — off of me — !”

Kokichi’s knee hit the tile when he saw Kaito’s silhouette rise up, slamming full force into Shuichi’s upper body.

The force sent the slimmer boy’s body flying out of Kokichi’s view, a startling crash echoing in the small room as they collided with something, maybe the dresser, maybe the wall — Kokichi instinctively squinted his eyes again, turning his body away from the loud noises, giving into his natural instinct to run away and hide. But even if there was a place to run to, it wasn’t even an option he wanted to consider. He wanted to help Kaito. He _needed_ to help Kaito. It didn’t matter that his legs were mush and both of the others howling at Shuichi weren’t apparently getting through to him at all — he had to go and help him.

“Shuichi?” Kokichi called out, crawling forward mostly on his hands and elbows, dragging his legs behind him like a dead frog. There was clattering, and another loud yell, “You piece of —” and he saw Maki scrambling to the other side of the room to join the others out of Kokichi’s view, the only feminine voice in the group chanting desperately, “Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t!”

There was another gunshot, another scream, another thud. Kokichi hobbled his upper body closer, trying to move quicker to no avail. He could feel his heart rattling the marrow of his bones, his skin prickling with panicked goosebumps. The next noises moved so quickly in succession that Kokichi could barely process it in the time he had: Shuichi passing through the narrow view of the door frame, tightened fists dragging Kaito by his shirt collar by the floor. The faint trail of blood on the carpet — like the trail of blood he had seen splattered in his parent’s bedroom.

He had been fearful before, but now he felt almost paralyzed. Maki was weeping, coming forward only for Shuichi to slam her across the cheekbone with the barrel of the gun this time, and her head ricocheted backwards, colliding with the edge of the nightstand as her legs awkwardly bent at the knees. The crack of her skull, the way her body limped for a moment before it crashed into the carpet. Kaito was rasping, clearly enraged and yet unable to properly struggle. Kokichi could see blood staining his shirt.

 _Please, please, please. Just a little more._ Kokichi hoisted himself forward, not bothering to stifle the whimpers that slipped from him as his lower body hummed in pain.

“You piece of shit,” the wounded male on the floor spat out, trying to lift himself up only for Shuichi’s foot to slam down on his wound. Kaito wretched once before his body submitted to the force, weakly heaving. “I _knew_ there was something fucking wrong with you from the start.”

If Shuichi had heard him, he gave no indication.

Pink, wet lips parted slightly as the gun repositioned itself in his hands, pointed directly at the center of Kaito’s chest.

“Die,” he whispered.

Kokichi reached out his hand.

 

 

 

Shuichi stared down at the frail boy clutching his ankle. Kokichi's grip was surprisingly strong, too strong for someone who essentially considered near incapacitated from the waist down. As Kokichi dug his nails into Shuichi's skin without thinking, he put his forehead down onto the beige carpeting, scratchy wool completely blanketing his view.

"Please," he begged, his voice wavering at the edge of tears, “I'll prove that I love you, I’ll do anything, so, please, let Kaito go. I'm... I'm begging you."

There was a silence, and then a scoff of disbelief. Kokichi didn't even respond to the reaction. He kept his head down and waited. His grip was already starting to lessen, the strength weakening as seconds dragged out into a full minute of no response. Only the heavy, sputtering coughs of the wounded classmate on the floor.

Finally, he felt Shuichi's weight shift. There was an annoyed sigh.

The voice above him ground out between his teeth. "You should know letting Kaito go is impossible anyway. Not after everything he's seen."

Kokichi could already feel himself getting ready to cry. Still, he kept his hands locked onto Shuichi's ankle despite how hard he was trembling, and he gathered enough strength to lift his head up to look at the other, violet eyes pleading.

"There has to be something. Please? Shuichi? I-I, I love you." Kokichi squeezed the words out of his aching chest, shoulders heaving even as he tried to say those words. His ears suddenly felt hot, and he found himself furiously blushing as he said those words in front of Kaito, who had no context whatsoever for why he was saying such things.

His lips curled into a weak smile. Something he hoped looked loving. His fingers were beginning to slip. One last time, "Please, Shuichi...?"

Shuichi ripped his leg away. The next moment, Kokichi's forehead exploded in pain as Shuichi's foot smashed his head into the floor. Kokichi gave a muffled cry, the tears finally breaking through his self-imposed dam, fully soaking into the strands of carpet. He heard Shuichi's voice rising in pitch. Hysterical. Angry. Or maybe that was his own voice, cranking high as he screamed against the sudden pain.

"Let go of me!" Shuichi was roaring above him. Like a harpy, or some foreign, wounded bird, his voice was suddenly the only thing that he could hear even though he knew for a fact that he himself was screaming too. Kokichi could feel himself growing more dazed with each kick landed straight to the back of his skull. But his hands were trained on Shuichi's ankle. He wasn't even sure what to do beyond this point, the only thought present in his mind: you cant let go. If you let go, he'll kill Kaito. He'll kill Kaito, and...

And you'll have no one left.

You'll never get out of here.

" _No!_ " The word exploded from him with more strength than Kokichi thought he even had left, despite everything he had been through, despite the only response to his exclamation was him eating a mouthful of scratchy carpeting. "I'm not letting go! You can't kill Kaito!! I won't let you kill him!!" His nails dug into Shuichi's ankle ferociously, a pained growl from the raging male above him.

Shuichi's foot raised again to smash down Kokichi's head, and Kokichi yanked as hard as he could on the limb in his hands.

There was a shriek, and a stumbling, and Kokichi could feel the muscles in Shuichi's leg spasming as he tried to regain his balance - no luck. Kokichi watched as Shuichi collided into the floor face-first, his foot lifting off the ground as he fell back. The gun bounced away from him, the force loosening his grip.

In an instant, Shuichi was scrambling to get up, but Kaito hauled himself forward. A tangling mess of limbs, Kaito pressed his forearm into the front of Shuichi's throat, the gravity helping to close his trachea as the detective struggled to breath. Kokichi watched, near horrified as he saw Shuichi's face blush in a variety of different colors as he helplessly tried to suck in air, Kaito's expression the most manic he had ever seen, blood from his wounds oozing into Shuichi's hair. A trembling, sparse gasp, and Shuichi's eyes started rolling back into his head, the red veins popping bright against his scleras.

And then, his arms slumped and hit the floor - and he finally stopped moving.

Kaito remained for a moment, as if he didn't believe that Shuichi had actually gone unconscious-- almost as though this were another elaborate trick. Kokichi could barely believe it either, the idea that Shuichi had actually fallen so easily. He didn’t trust Shuichi to even be asleep. In the short time he had been imprisoned, he envisioned him somehow as some sort of superhuman being, always vigilant and watching. But soon enough, Kaito’s arm released the pressure on Shuichi’s throat, and for a moment, everything was eerily silent in spite of the heavy breaths that heaved their way from Kaito’s lungs.

The purple-haired male rose, his legs shaking as he tried to retain his balance.

Kokichi simply stared up at him, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. A small river of blood trickled out of his nose, but he barely felt any pain. He felt numb with awe. Kaito towered over him, and then his outline swayed as he knelt down in front of him. Kokichi closed his mouth and swallowed once, his throat dry.

He felt strong arms scoop him up from the floor, and Kokichi was suddenly enveloped in warmth as Kaito wordlessly lifted him. A sudden sensation of relief flooded his mind. Every part of his body loosened in Kaito’s hold, the feeling that he could trust him overwhelming his entire body, and he almost felt as he did in the now abandoned tub full of lukewarm, stale vanilla scented water. Relaxed. Safe. Like he could sleep for ages and ages if someone didn’t wake him.

Kokichi closed his eyes. The deep breathing in Kaito’s chest, the way his pulse was thumping all around him. Intoxicating. He smelled iron and his head thudded loudly in complaint, but he didn’t even care. There was a deep rumbling as Kaito spoke.

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.” Like a chant that refused to let up. Kokichi felt himself being rocked back and forth. He felt that it was almost putting him to sleep. Kaito moved steady and surely, like a zombie. He moved without having to think.

And then, there was a slight change in tone: “Kokichi, you okay?”

Kokichi almost gave into the urge to say, “yes, I’m fine, don’t worry,” despite everything. He gave a gurgling mumble in response, his voice utterly lost within his throat, scraped from the screaming he had done earlier.

Out in the living room, he saw the walls open up — a faux-cozy set up, another large TV hanging over a fireplace. The ceiling raised high, smooth and creamy, the lights planted deep into the plaster. Kaito’s purple hair swayed in his vision as he walked. The living room was so beautifully cozy, and yet — Kokichi couldn’t care less. The weird dissonance of the beauty of the house and the actual events that occurred here was enough to hate everything inside.

The front door opened, and the sunlight flooded him. His eyes squinted, then closed, unable to handle the drastic change, his pupils shivering to adjust in the light.

There was a solid beeping noise, the sound of Kaito’s truck unlocking. As he stumbled towards the passenger’s side — 

Kaito suddenly stopped in his tracks, a deep inhale of realization. Kokichi stared up at him, alarmed that he had ceased moving, the gentle rocking of his steps back and forth stopping.

“Holy shit,” the phrase murmured through Kaito’s lips, “Is Kaede here too?" Violet eyes flicked down to meet Kokichi’s.

Kaede, laying chained to the cot in the basement. The blood on her mouth likely dried, God knows what else. It wasn’t as though Kokichi knew for sure that Shuichi had kept him up to date on every single thing he had done to her.

She might already be dead. She might already…

Kokichi’s hands gripped the front of Kaito’s shirt, eyes glossy with tears. He shook his head.

“Jesus Christ,” was Kaito’s final words.

Kokichi took a breath.

“Just — _get me the hell out of here._ ”

 

 

Dizziness. Then, the pale yellow light of the room. Shuichi cracked his eyes open, a violent headache crashing into the sides of his temples as he awoke. As if his brain were struggling to catch up to him, he sucked in a huge breath, only to cough raucously, his throat maimed from the overwhelming pressure Kaito had placed on it earlier.

Soft hands were caressing his head, and he saw the concerned, bloodred eyes of Maki staring down at him.

“Shuichi…”

Shuichi bolted upward, barely noticing the way his body shook, complaining from the jostling movement of his brain. His eyes narrowed hard. Almost accusatory towards the only person left in the room. Kaito and Kokichi were gone.

Maki reached her hands out to him again, her worried frown deepening. “Wait, you shouldn’t move so fast —”

“Where the hell are they?” The growl ripped from his throat, low and threatening. There was a slight satisfaction deep within his stomach as he saw the inward border of Maki’s lips tremble slightly with his sudden outburst. Her hands returned to her lap, her eyes casting downward, elsewhere from his ferocious gaze.

“K-Kaito’s car is gone, so they probably —”

“And you didn’t go after them?” Shuichi barked, his voice dripping with disgusted exasperation. Maki fell silent again. “Give me your keys.”

“Wh-What?” she stammered, her body freezing.

Something snapped inside his brain — everyone around him was incompetent, incompetent and unable to listen — and he grabbed Maki roughly by the shoulders, his eyes narrowing sinisterly, the pink of his gums showing as he angrily ground his teeth together.

“Give. Me. Your. Keys.” Shuichi repeat, but he didn’t wait for her to comply — his hand jammed into the side of her skirt pocket and angrily pulled out the keyring himself, his half-asleep legs blossoming with pins and needles as he rose from the floor, stumbling towards the entrance only to wobble precariously near the door frame.

“Wa-Wait, you need to —”

“Shut up!” The command was screeched, but Shuichi swallowed the urge to cough afterward. “You — you ruined everything — why did you fucking bring him here?!”

“I wasn’t trying to — !” Maki’s own voice raised. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes, frantic to prove herself worthy to the boy in front of him.

But he had already regained the feeling in his legs, and as soon as he was able, he ran out the partially opened front door, slamming it shut.

“Shuichi, Shuichi, don’t —” Maki was already crying, her red-stained cheeks wet with salt as she ran after him. The door to her car was closed, the engine starting with a loud roar.

Shuichi sat in the driver’s seat, his teeth bared and his eyebrows angrily shot downnwards. Eyes utterly focused, utterly concentrated. He wasn’t even seeing her. Maki threw her hands up, trying to get his attention to no avail.

Shuichi threw the car into reverse and drove away, and she was left behind.


	26. Hey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates -- I've been job hunting and also in general feeling not very motivated... seasonal depression is upon us, folks, and it's hitting me so hard. Sucks. I really do want to keep writing and working on this fic but it feels like every time I try I just end up feeling exhausted. Blech.
> 
> Thank you for everyone who has been supporting me in writing this fic so far.. I am trying my best. :( Thank you for being patient!!

The engine roared, but Kokichi could barely hear it.

He slumped into his seat, his naked body covered by a plush jacket that Kaito had fished out from somewhere on the floor. The air was thick with trapped heat. Neither of them said anything after they entered the truck, and the silence was only broken through by the car’s rumbling as they drove away from the strange house situated in the middle of nowhere, inhabited by people they could no longer recognize.

Kokichi wondered if he should say something to his rescuer, but neither of them were ready to break the quiet. He turned his attention to his arm instead, staring at the white, crusted spots where soap had dried onto his skin and made him itch. The ends of his hair were still damp and sticking to his neck. With how hot it was inside the car, he wondered if he was sweating and simply couldn’t tell.

His eyes flickered to the window. The surroundings were surprisingly gorgeous, a forest framing them on all sides with fresh vegetation, unwieldy and wild, detached from any semblance of society and untouched by humans. A place too far from anything that a modern person would need, a place that someone sees when they’re going to some other city more interesting than their own and thinks to themselves, ‘ _what is someone actually lived out here, how would they survive?_ ’ before driving away and forgetting they ever passed by.

This was why no one had heard him. The house had no neighbors, wasn’t near anything as far as he could see. All that screaming and crying he did was in vain. There was never anyone around to help him.

He felt a bead of sweat form on his temple and run down his jawline. The sun was shining strong through the clear windows. The dirt under them stretched endlessly into the horizon, paved only by tire marks of what few cars traveled down this road before them. How far away from the city were they? Kokichi blinked rapidly, trying to preemptively dry the tears that were pricking his eyes. He didn’t want to cry, not now. Dry lips pressed together nervously as he forced himself to shift his train of thought, swallowing the emotions rising in his throat like bile.

The trees kept passing by. The glass windows morphed their dark, peeling segments of bark, and the green leaves rustled as they drove past. Kokichi splayed his hand out on the cool glass. It didn’t feel real; he felt like he was trapped in some sort of abstract painting, and the trees outside were just specks of green splattered carelessly over meticulous, vertical strokes of brown. He tried to bring his knees up to comfort himself and winced when pain shot through his pelvis again.

The engine hummed; the car swayed along with the uneven terrain; Kokichi stared at the trees, and he allowed himself to dare to think:

_Was it really over?_

All at once, he felt exhaustion creeping into his limbs as though his brain had already accepted it. His body unraveled as it encouraged him to finally let his guard down for the first time in what felt like years. The car seat was the most comfortable bed, and the sun was his favorite shade of yellow. The jacket on top of him no longer felt like it was burning his skin. He was a cat, stretching out onto the carpet of his new home, positioned perfectly under a warm square of light.

He saw Kaito in the reflection of the window, smeared with the oil of his hand, and mumbled with a heavy tongue, “are you okay?”

It was a pointless question. Of course Kaito wasn’t okay. He had found his friends weeks after they had gone missing, and one of them shot him twice in the torso. The other sat in his car, scarred and broken and wet. And the third friend was dead, as far as he knew. Kokichi dug his molars into the sides of his tongue. Once they were back in civilization, once they were in the hospital and could speak to police, he would tell them to go back for Kaede. But not now.

Kaito didn’t give a response. He simply kept breathing a steady inhale-exhale that rung in Kokichi’s ears like a rushing gale. Kaito was driving with his right hand gripping the wheel, indigo eyes focused on the road as though his life depended on it. A once-white shirt was stained with splotches of red, so deep and rich in color that Kokichi couldn’t tell if Kaito was still bleeding or not. He had the brief thought to take the jacket off of himself and push it against his bullet wound before deciding against it. It would be better not to interrupt him while he was concentrating this hard on driving them out of there.

How long had they been driving? The clock blinked on the car stereo: 5 pm. Kokichi fidgeted as best he could. He wanted to be safe already. Skip the hassle of filing a police report, skip explaining what had happened to all of his schoolmates (if they even cared — he was probably just another poster on the wall with Kaede, but he wondered if people would scramble to pretend they knew him like they did with her), skip to the part where he could go back to a familiar house and crawl into his familiar bed — even if — even if his parents would no longer be there with him.

He swallowed, a sour taste rising in his mouth. Those pesky tears were coming again. Stupid Kokichi. Stupid. Don’t cry.

Another thought occurred to him as he struggled to regain his composure: what was going to happen to him if he did return to society? He was 18 years old, so would he have to take care of himself from now on? It wasn’t as though he had any relatives to take care of him anyway; his parents were both only children, and his living grandparents were definitely not in a condition to be taking care of anyone. Did that mean he would get the house? Or would someone else, some distant relation, come ina nd swoop up his parents’ belongings and leave him with nothing? Would he have to spend a long time in a hospital? How would he pay for that? Would he have to find a job —

Beside him, Kaito’s voice thundered, “what the _fuck_?!”

Before Kokichi could react, he felt his body fling forward, his chest aching hard as the seatbelt locked into place. A sharp gasp slipped from his throat as the car stuttered and swerved. Kaito’s eyes were hardened, vicious and angry as he stared at the rear view, his teeth grit together so hard that Kokichi feared they may crack under their own force.

Kokichi looked to the mirror and saw a silver car behind them.

The truck lurched to the side, and he gave a startled scream as he was tossed to the right, his hands scrambling to grip the overhead handle. The car was speeding up in an attempt to pull up beside them. Its windows were tinted so darkly that Kokichi couldn’t see his face, but he already knew who was driving. It could only be one person if they were following them so ferociously. Kokichi’s breath caught in his throat as Kaito steered sharply again, ramming the truck into the car’s side, sparks of hot metal debris exploding from their collision. The car briefly disappeared, and the engine revved loud as Kaito hit the accelerator as hard as he could, the force slamming them both backwards into their seats, causing clouds of dust to rise behind them.

Kokichi squinted at the side mirror and saw Shuichi match their speed easily, rising ominously from the cloak of dirt. Kaito was shouting angrily, his knuckles going white as they tensed around the wheel. “ _This crazy motherfucker!_ ”

The trees reduced to smears in the background. Kokichi’s other hand gripped the edge of the seat, shaking. He had never been in a car going this fast before — they were going nearly 100 miles per hour on a barren, unpaved road with no partitions, no barriers to guide them away from the forest. The front of the silver car was trying to pass them again, but Kaito swerved in front, blocking it from trying to run them off the road again. Kaito’s eyes gleamed as they stayed focused on his mirrors, angry and feral, his lips peeling over his teeth like an animal,.

Kokichi, a helpless bystander. He tried to remember how to breathe as he stared at Shuichi trying to catch up with them.

The tears were rising and overflowing.

His hands were shaking.

He felt an odd mantra rising in him in his panic, screaming loudly in his head, a plea to the universe, to anyone who would be willing to hear him.

 

( _please please please please leave me alone please go away please just DIE!_ )

There was a loud screech as Shuichi abruptly braked.

Kokichi whipped his head back around to the windshield in his confusion. Kaito’s eyes finally tore away from the reflection of the car behind him, and then the veins popped through the pale skin of his hands as he threw the steering wheel to the right, swerving the entire truck until it was horizontal and skidding, and Kokichi only saw how the road disappeared under them as it bent into a left turn and the broadness of that tree trunk in front of them —

And the impact against the tree was tremendous, and violent, and so utterly powerful that Kokichi felt his bones rattling under his skin.

 

 

 

 

 

Kokichi saw black for a moment, and then he was awake again.

His eyelids trembled as though he were opening his eyes for the first time. He took in his senses slowly, one by one. The smell of smoldering, crunch metal. A cloud of dark smoke wafting by his window. The hiss of an overheated, abused engine. The truck groaned as it settled into its new home deep in the dirt.

A thick, scorched tree branch tickling the ceiling of the car, glittering with a halo of glass.

Kaito sat slumped over in his seat, his head leaning on the shattered window, his sheet white face splattered with soot and blood. The window harbored a deep crack that splintered outward like a spider’s web. A smattering of glass shards dappled his lap, a stream of crimson gently flowing down the bridge of his nose. Kokichi felt his mouth glue together.

“K… Kaito?” he spoke gently, the way someone would call out to a friend to check if they were sleeping. A shivering hand reached out towards Kaito’s arm.

The door on his side opened.

Kokichi turned around and shrieked, his body flailing as he felt a hand wrap around his ankle, hands leaving Kaito’s tainted skin to clutch at the jacket that was now barely covering him. His legs scrabbled uselessly as Shuichi pulled on his foot, dragging him halfway out of the car until his back hit the leather seat. He gave another warbled scream, a string of “let go, let _go of me!_ ” as he kicked his leg forward.

His heel swung hard into Shuichi’s chin. There was a yelp as Shuichi briefly lost his balance, clearly still disoriented from when his throat was crushed, and Kokichi wrenched his ankle away too hard and too fast, sliding fully out from his seat, his skin slick with sweat. There was a muted grunt that sounded in his chest as he hit the forest floor. Shuichi wobbled, but Kokichi didn’t pay any attention to him; he flipped himself onto his stomach and dug his fingers deep into the dirt, ignoring the shock of pain that traveled down his spine and thudded loudly at his hips, crawling as quickly as he could away from his attacker.

He ground his teeth together. _I have to get away, there’s no way I’m going back with him, there’s no way, I have to run away…!_

But subconsciously, even he knew that recapture was inevitable. Soon enough, he felt a force slam into the small of his back, and he screamed into the moist dirt as the pain electrified his limbs, his knees pushing hard into the ground as they buckled, tears freely flowing from his eyes. His arms twitched, desperately trying to propel him forward, failing to move his body and instead simply writhing against the floor like a trapped animal’s.

“Stop trying to run away,” Shuichi said above him, his voice oddly calm, and cold hands found and gripped his shoulders. Kokichi babbled out everything that popped into his head in a moment, a variety of ‘stop’s and ‘don’t touch me’s trailing into a single ‘please, please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry’ as arms wrapped around his chest, easily lifting his body up as though it was weightless.

When he saw the silver car enter his view, he screamed again. “ _Someone help me! I need help, he’s going to kill me! Someone please help!_

Shuichi made no move to cover his mouth. They both knew no one was coming to save him.

 

 

 

 

 

_”Who did this to you?”_

_Shuichi anxiously blew air through his nose. Slender hands were tilting a bottle of hydrogen peroxide into a cotton ball. The wet mass of fibers dabbed gently against the open wound on his arm, and Shuichi couldn’t fully muffle the pained hiss that passed through the gaps of his teeth. His eyes squeezed shut. Beside him, Rantaro was frowning._

_“Shuichi…” The way his name was said made him feel like he was in trouble. He slowly opened one of his eyes to see Rantaro’s concerned face peering back at him. The green-haired male put down the instruments he plucked from the nearby first aid kit. “It was your dad again, huh?” He sighed before Shuichi had begun nodding in confirmation. It was no secret. Rantaro always asked at the beginning, even when they both knew the answer._

_“Got mad at me because I stayed out too late. Y’know, the usual,” the detective said. Rantaro’s hands clenched into fists._

_“I’m going to kill him,” he murmured._

_Things fell back into silence for a moment as they returned to their respective roles: Shuichi, the bruised and broken boy sitting with his knees awkwardly knocking together as he held out his arm; Rantaro, his concerned nurse faithfully dressing his wounds and cracking ice packs to place over his inflamed, yellow bruises. There were typically no words spoken during this part of their odd ritual, aside from the occasional pained moan if Shuichi’s wounds were especially awful that week._

_But this time, after a few minutes, Rantaro’s eyes lifted and met Shuichi’s, glittering dangerously under the yellowed light of the nearby lamp. His stare made Shuichi bite his lip harder._

_“I love you, Shuichi. You know that, right?” The words were spoken lowly, his boyfriend’s milky sweet voice balanced by bitterness like a soothing cup of coffee. Shuichi blushed, and he nodded slowly as he struggled to maintain eye contact, wanting and not wanting to look away all at once. Rantaro looked thoughtful for a moment. His smile returned as the last of the bandages were wrapped around the cut in his arm, and he patted it gently to signify that he was finished._

_Shuichi gave a small whine, pulling on Rantaro’s shirt sleeve as he reached out his other arm to wrap around his neck, and Rantaro allowed himself to be pulled foward to embrace him wholly._

_Shuichi’s vision was masked by his boyfriend’s shoulder as he buried his face into it and sobbed._

 

 

 

 

 

Kokichi padded his hands around the interior of the trunk for the entirety of the ride home, trying to find any opening inside for him to escape. But there was no magic lever or button that was going to open the trunk for him — and he had the thought that he wouldn’t be able to escape even if he could get the trunk open. If he tumbled out onto the road, even in the miraculous chance that Shuichi didn’t notice or see him attempting to crawl away, how would he get back home? His legs were barely functional, and the amount of ground he would have to cover would be enormous. His one hope was that the police would show up, but even then, it was much more likely that they would stop at the car accident where Kaito was anyway.

It was always impossible. Kokichi let the tears freely run down his cheeks, crying loudly and without restraint. Again. Again. Again. Again.

He was going back again.

He was so close.

He almost had the idea that being run over by some random car was a preferable fate.

Was Kaito dead?

The segmented thoughts kept rolling through his brain like a broken dam of thoughts he had suppressed. His head was starting to hurt, and his bare hands swiped over the trails of mucus and tears that stained his face. In the small space, hearing himself cry felt somehow more pathetic than normal — all of his sobbing echoed around him, and the darkness was overwhelming.

_Was Kaito dead? Is no one coming?_

Kokichi felt his entire body flinch as the trunk was popped open, a flood of light blinding him. He brought his arms up to his face, grimacing against the glare until he could make the two burnt, dark silhouettes hovering over him.

As he squinted, Kokichi made out Shuichi’s eyes, bright yellow like spotlights, floating dreamily in a haze of darkness.

“Kokichi,” the telltale voice of his captor wafted into the air, “will you be good?”

Hesitantly, Kokichi nodded.

“Roll onto your back,” the honey-sweet voice commanded. Kokichi carefully rolled himself over, his legs slightly bending as thin arms hooked themselves under his bony skeleton. He gave in, his limbs being pulled down to the earth as those arms gently lifted him, handling his body like a precious doll. _Because what was the point of fighting back now?_ Shuichi’s hands felt so cold. Kokichi closed his eyes.

He thought of Kaito’s pale face splattered in red, like the flesh of his eyelids doused in light, until the light went away and there was only blackness again. The cool air of the house doused over his body instead, and Kokichi shivered against his will, his molars clattering as he huddled closer into Shuichi’s middle. He heard a satisfied hum, and their bodies were hugged closer together.

Even with his eyes closed, Kokichi could vaguely navigate himself through the house based on the sounds: the front door closed with a thud; another door swung open; the stairs to the basement creaked under quick feet, the small spurts of groaning wood silenced by the complaints of their successors. Kokichi forced himself to quell the disappointment he felt as he realized he wasn’t going to be put back into the nice bed upstairs. He should have expected that change. Suddenly, he was supremely upset at the fact that his hair still hadn’t fully dried.

He at least had something good upstairs.

Stupid. It was stupid to run. His eyes cracked open slightly, staring up at the pale skin of Shuichi’s neck and the way his sweater’s collar cast shadows over his collarbone. His brain started spinning.

Maybe he could persuade Shuichi to let him back upstairs somehow, where he wouldn’t have to deal with the absolute chill of the basement, where he would still get meals and painkillers on a regular basis. Even the repetitive violations were preferable to being down _there_ with —

With Kaede.

Kokichi’s eyes snapped open as the final door closed behind them.

The first sight that greeted his eyes was that familiar glare of fluorescent lighting, the same ceiling he saw from when he was first kidnapped however many days ago. The sight woke something in him — he felt his heart suddenly fluttering to life, his skin buzzing with nervous excitement, the kind that flows through the body when it’s preparing its fight-or-flight mechanism — his hand gripped hard onto Shuichi’s shirt, but Shuichi remained silent as he lowered him down next to the marble island.

Kaede laid motionless on the floor, a blanket pulled over her head, a few wisps of blond hair the only indication that she was present. Kokichi flinched as he was laid on top of the cold cement, his purple eyes trained on the blanket, then up to Shuichi. The other boy was simply staring down at him with a small, gentle smile.

“Maki,” Shuichi said, and the brunette dutifully appeared at his side, wheeling the desk chair over. Kokichi looked up at him, curiosity betrayed on his face.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Kokichi blurted out as Maki stepped towards him, and his eyes were still explicitly trained on Shuichi, watery and bleak.

Shuichi smiled.

“Yes,” he said simply, “I know.”

“I’ll be good. Can we go back upstairs, Shuichi? Please?” The words fell from Kokichi’s tongue easily.

“After this,” Shuichi said. Maki seated Kokichi onto the chair, the leather already beginning to attach to his bare thighs, skin sticky even in the dry chill of the basement. The smaller male barely paid attention to whatever Maki was doing, choosing to focus on Shuichi instead.

“What are you going to do?” Kokichi asked. Shuichi was still smiling, his eyes beaming.

“Tell me you love me, Kokichi.”

Without hesitation this time. “I love you.”

“You aren’t lying, right?”

“No, I’m not lying.”

It didn’t seem to matter what his answer was. Shuichi wasn’t looking to his face for honesty like he normally would. Kokichi wondered what kind of point he possibly had to make.

There was a clatter of metal hitting the marble counter top, and Kokichi finally turned his attention back to Maki. A variety of items were already laid out before him, objects he couldn’t see from where he was being carried before. A large basin of water, filled with ice. The blowtorch. The shiny vice grip on the edge of the counter.

The terror returned. He gave a small yelp as he felt a hand wrap around his right wrist, eyes widening as he saw Maki gripping his hand and laying it down on the surface. The marble chilled his skin.

“What are you going to do? Shuichi?” Kokichi repeated himself, his voice pitched higher in panic now.

Shuichi smiled wider.

“You love me, huh,” he said, almost amused, “Even though I just had to bring you back after you tried to run away? That’s so funny.”

Kokichi’s arm pulled forward, and his wrist was placed in between the vice’s jaws, his fingers pointing outward. His grubby nails shined dully in the light.

He remembered the glass case of fingernails he saw in that desk drawer forever ago.

“No!” Kokichi screamed, and he tried to wrench his hand away, but Maki’s grip was firm. Her teeth chewed her bottom lip as she concentrated, gyrating the handle of the vice, the jaws coming closer and closer together.

“But I think maybe… it’s not even your fault that you lied, Kokichi. I think maybe you just don’t know what true love _feels_ like,” the dark-haired male sang, and he fished into his pocket and brought out a screwdriver, waving it before Kokichi’s eyes. “So, I’ll show you. I’ll show you what it means, when you really love somebody, when you’re willing to really do _anything_ for them.”

Kokichi gasped, his chest tightening ferociously over his thundering heart, “N-no, I — I never wanted to leave you, Shuichi!”

That caught the detective’s attention immediately. His golden eyes focused again, glaring with a fierce intensity.

“What?” he said quietly.

“I-I didn’t even want to go with Kaito!” Kokichi blurted out, the tears washing over his face again as he trembled, his wrist now secure in the vice, “I wasn’t going to leave you, I swear! I swear to God! So, so you don’t — you don’t have to treat me like Rantaro, because I'm not gonna leave, you don’t have to pull my nails off, _please_ , I was going to stay! I promise —”

Shuichi suddenly burst into loud, raucous laughter. Kokichi’s voice trailed off, startled by the noise, his hand jerking in place as his body unsuccessfully tried to flinch away. Shuichi’s eyes were watering with how hard he was laughing, his cheeks stained a deep red. When he finally settled down, he was still chuckling, his hand cupping his own cheek as he looked at Kokichi with amusement.

“You’ve been in my drawer, huh?” he said. He turned away for a moment to go back to the desk drawer, and in moments he was back, the glass box of decorative fingernails in his hands. “You saw this?”

Kokichi, upon realizing the ramifications of what he revealed, began apologizing with a thick voice, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry —”

Shuichi pressed his index finger to his lips, and Kokichi silenced himself on command.

“It’s okay. It's not that big of a deal. Sorry for laughing, I didn’t really mean to,” Shuichi said, but he was still giggling. “It’s just — it’s just so funny. It’s like when you tell someone to guess something and they’re just so completely off.”

“What?” Kokichi said, blinking the tears away from his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Look here, Kokichi.” Shuichi turned the glass box over in his hands. A label revealed itself on the wooden backing, a thick piece of white masking tape scribbled over with sharpie. Like all the other trophies, except he wasn't able to see this one when he first looked into the drawer. “You’ll see why it’s so funny when you read it.”

Kokichi leaned forward and squinted.

_Shuichi Saihara._


	27. Did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :P I know my update schedule is very slow. Rest assured, I am trying to write consistently. Thank you to everyone who keeps following along...! Right now, my main goal is to just get this done. It feels too mean to have it on a perpetual cliffhanger. But I'm sorry that I won't be able to maintain my old update schedule anymore.
> 
> I love all of you.
> 
>  **Trigger Warnings** : entire chapter has intense torture scenes/recalling memories of such events. Please read with caution.

The smell of burnt flesh seeped through the walls.

Or maybe it was just clinging onto him. Shuichi’s heart picked up pace from the moment he unlocked the door to the house, a quaint, two-story country French-style piece of architecture in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and the keys stained his palms with a metallic smell as he turned it. The door swung open with a refreshing gust of cold air. It was April, but the heat was already swelling to higher temperatures. Out of the corner of his eye, Shuichi saw Rantaro pinch the fabric of his shirt collar to fan himself off. Even sweat looked good on him.

Shuichi was sweating too, but it was more from how nervous he was than the actual heat. He pulled his long sleeve over his hand and dabbed his neck, leaving the hem spotty with moisture. His throat felt dry.

“I don’t smell anything,” Rantaro responded slowly when Shuichi asked him, a crooked smile developing on his face like a Polaroid. The detective wasn’t sated with the answer.

“Really? Nothing at all?” The words quaked from him. That was when the worry began cracking through Rantaro’s delicate features: a tilt of an eyebrow that showed the slightest bit of concern, the way his tongue flicked over his lips before he responded again.

“No,” he finally said, “are you feeling okay? Do you need some water?”

Shuichi felt blood rush to his cheeks. He was just embarrassing himself again — there were curses muttered under his breath as he swooned, his hand gripping the back of a nearby chair. In moments, the other appeared at his side and was there to gingerly guide him down to his seat. The questioning gaze bloomed on Rantaro’s face as Shuichi stared at his feet, his vision dancing with sparks as the dizziness briefly overtook him. It felt like every day he was getting more and more sickly.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Rantaro whispered as though he might break if he talked too loudly. A cool hand planted itself on Shuichi’s forehead, damp under his long bangs, and Shuichi stared at Rantaro’s eyes. His head squeezed. The hand was gone (he vaguely heard Rantaro mumbling something about a fever), but the touch lingered on his skin. Shuichi felt his cheeks heat up further when he saw Rantaro try to discreetly wipe his hand on his pants. A silly reaction in and of itself — becoming nervous about his sweat just made his palms clammy.

Shuichi struggled for a moment to pull the electric fuzz that was packed into his shell of a brain, trying to refocus. The self-berating began on its own, like clockwork: _stupid idiot get your shit together why are you so stupid? all this time and preparation and you’re ruining it you’re always ruining everything_. He grabbed a fistful of dark hair. Sweat was collecting in the hollows of his skin.

“Jesus, stop that!” Cold fingers circled his hand and pried his grip apart.

The tingling pain from Shuichi’s self-assault lingered on his scalp. _you’re ruining it good for nothing stop it stop it why were you born?_ He imagined himself pinching a piece of the fuzz that was lodged in his brain, pulling it out to clear his thinking. Think carefully — stop remembering how the meat floated to the top of the bubbling pot — what did you bring him here for?

Rantaro was still holding onto his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Shuichi mumbled, his lips feeling numb and weak. The other simply shook his head, finally putting his hands down and looking around the kitchen. A neatly wrapped pink box sat in the corner of the room, positioned next to the microwave on the counter.

Shuichi spoke up again: “Th-that’s — that’s my present for you.”

Rantaro looked towards it, then back at him; he rose from Shuichi’s side, leaving his body cold as he made his way over to the box. It was dressed like it was for a child’s birthday party, topped with a ribbon packed with woven glitter. Long, pale hands grasped each side and lifted it, and Shuichi could see through the sweat stinging his eyes that Rantaro was inspecting it hard, almost with suspicion. Panic spiked his heart. He wondered if it looked too garish. He wondered if this had been a bad idea. He wondered…

Rantaro grasped a corner of the ribbon and pulled the wrapping apart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Shuichi Saihara._

Kokichi gaped at the name on the display case, still had his mouth open in shock when Shuichi turned the box around again. The double row of lovingly painted fingernails pinned inside looked as though they were smiling up at him in a morbid greeting.

(Kokichi, long time no see! Are you planning on staying with us now? Will you be one of us?)

Nausea swelled in his esophagus. In a flash, he was close to vomiting again, the full feeling trickling up his throat; he swallowed instead, averting his eyes and letting out a sour-tasting breath. The room was a freezer, icing his skin, making every limb vulnerable to cracking open.

Raising his gaze, he saw that Shuichi’s eyes were glazed over again. His face was completely still for a moment, unblinking and silent.

“You really thought these were Rantaro’s, huh? I would _never_ do that. His hands were so pretty. I could never do that to him. His hands,” Shuichi took a breath, “his hands were always beautiful even when they touched ugly things.”

Kokichi watched as the light returned to Shuichi’s eyes, the glint that was forming in them nearly glowing as he reminisced. It felt like Shuichi was a vampire, sucking the life from his victim as he rambled, becoming livelier as Kokichi paled in response.

There was silence. Shuichi’s golden-spotlight eyes peered down at him. Kokichi stared at Maki instead — Maki stared back, her expression hard, stone-cold, determined. He wondered if she knew about what had happened with Kaito at all, whether or not Shuichi had bothered to tell her, if her loyalty to her brother exceeded how much she obviously still liked her boyfriend.

Keeping his eyes trained on her face, Kokichi gathered enough courage to ask, “But — but why would you —”

His voice squeaked in surprise as Shuichi slammed his palms into the counter. The detective swung his body forward, his chest nearly flat against the counter top, his crazed smile blown wide.

“Why would I do that? That’s obvious, isn’t it?!” Shuichi squealed in a childlike voice, “Because — _because_ , that way, I could prove to him that I loved him! Above everything else! And I would do it again, every single time my nails grew back, until my body gave up trying to fix itself, because I could prove it to him however many times he wanted me to! Because _I loved him!_ ”

A scraping noise echoed in the room, and Kokichi saw that Maki had placed a hammer in front of her partner, the steel hefty and dully shining. Shuichi gave her a curt nod, took the glass box of nails, placed it on the floor a good distance away from everyone’s feet. His movements were caring and soft, just in the same way he would treat his snails. Kokichi found himself looking at the terrarium now, his brow pulled together, staring pleadingly as though the snails could help him at all.

“Kokichi!” Shuichi raised his voice, and the smaller boy jumped with a slight whimper, dutifully returning his attention to his attacker.

Shuichi leaned in.

“Kokichi, you see,” the detective said, “if you _really_ love me, then you’ll be able to do the same. You understand? It’ll hurt like a _bitch_ at first, and you’ll wish you would drop dead just so the pain will finally stop, and you might have an accident or two or throw up everywhere, but it’ll be worth it. It’ll be worth it, because then I’ll believe you, I’ll let you back upstairs with me, and maybe after a little while, I’ll even stop tying you up. We could live here, together, forever, just you and me. I have enough money stowed away so that we’ll never go hungry —”

At some point, his ramblings turned to white noise. Kokichi stared at his fingers, watched them as they flexed outward. He closed his eyes and blew air out of his mouth to find out if he could see his own breath. Something rose in his throat again — not vomit, but a feeling. A vague, hot, scratchy sensation. His teeth ground together without him realizing it.

All at once, the exhaustion poured over him _again_ , and his entire body felt sore. His eyes were puffed and red and too sensitive, and his lips were dry and cold and painfully chapped, and he was cold; he was always cold, even when he wasn’t in this godforsaken basement. Shuichi hadn’t bothered to dress him, because of course he hadn’t, why would he? Why would he do anything for him, anything at all, when he was too concerned with Kokichi proving the ‘love’ he obviously never harbored for him, when he was recalling when Rantaro did this, Rantaro did that —

He felt the anger rising up in him. He reminded himself to concentrate. Shuichi was on his last words already when he finally focused.

“I’m pretty sure that’s all of it… I didn’t miss anything, did I?” Shuichi hummed, a pleased expression washing over him as Maki stiffly shook her head. His hands wrapped around the black blowtorch, and there was a sharp hiss and a noxious smell that permeated through the room as it lighted, an orange and blue petal shooting from its spout.

Kokichi mumbled something under his breath that Shuichi couldn’t hear.

Frowning, the detective placed the blowtorch temporarily back on the counter with a small clang. His brow furrowed. “What did you say?”

“I,” Kokichi exhaled hard, “ _I hate you._ ”

Shuichi didn’t respond. On the contrary, instead of flying into a rage, he almost appeared frozen now. Unsure of how to react. Kokichi felt a surge of emotion coursing through him, and his voice picked up in pitch.

“I _hate_ you. You’re _fucking crazy._ All of this is insane. All of it is crazy and disgusting and _so are you! You’re the worst fucking person I’ve ever met!_ ” His lips were trembling hard, but he pushed himself forward before his sudden confidence could falter. “ _Talking about love like you know anything about it! No wonder Rantaro left you if this is how you treated him! Nobody wants your nails or your weird murder souvenirs!! You fucking freak!_ ”

Shuichi’s left eyelid twitched.

“You killed my parents — _you killed Kaito!_ Fuck you! I hope the police catch you and you spend the rest of your life rotting in jail! You _ruined my life!_ ”

Kokichi fell into a fit of coughs, his hand wrenching against its obstruction. White stars twinkled behind his eyelids. Tears were searing his cheeks again. How many times had he cried in the past few days? Past few weeks?

How long — how long had it been since this started?

The confidence was all but gone now, replaced with unbridled, pure emotion, a sincere mourning of everything and everyone that left his life. He found himself wailing.

“I didn’t get to do anything I wanted to do my life! Why me? Why? _What did I ever do to deserve this?_ ”

Shuichi stared at him. Golden, swirling pools devoid of empathy. Maki was far away from them, her head turned away, out of view, the outline of her shoulders gently shaking.

Kokichi cried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He remembered everything before the pain impeccably. He remembered the faint headache that built inside of his skull, struggling to breathe through blocked sinuses, his face a scathing, reddened mess after he had finished blubbering through his tears. Shuichi didn’t say anything following his outburst. He simply held the screwdriver he had brought out earlier, the one with a fine, chiseled tip, and held it mechanically over the flame of the blowtorch. Kokichi remembered it turning a charcoal black before it began glowing a hot orange from the heat. Around the time the metal turned into a menacing red, Maki had gripped his index finger and pressed it flat against the marble.

He remembered thrashing so hard against the vice that he thought his wrist would dislocate. He didn’t cry — only screamed, raspy and loud. A plethora of violent thoughts passed through his mind rapid fire: he imagined tearing his hand away from his body and running away; he thought about throwing his body forward and cracking his head open on the edge of the table. Shuichi moved slowly, methodically. The blowtorch turned off. His fingers twitched as they felt the heat inch closer.

First contact was hot — there was a numbness that hit his skin before the pain erupted in the tip of his finger. The screwdriver touching him alone felt like the unrelenting sting of insects crawling under his epithelium. His mind blanked until the first swing of the hammer.

He was sure he screamed during this part too, but most of his lucidity ended as soon as Shuichi connected the hammer with the screwdriver’s handle. He remembered some kind of awful sound, a sharp _clang_ and a high pitched _hiss_ as the chiseled end wedged itself above his nail bed, and then the tearing of skin and cartilage and blood in his mouth and blood in his vision and fire dancing on his fingertips. People in fiction have always said that pain is red. Red is the color of blood, of life, of the thin layer of muscles that help you close your eyes at night. Kokichi learned instead that pain was white — in that moment, he couldn’t see. He saw absence of everything, a pure eggshell color as the hammer kept slamming into that accursed chisel, and then he subconsciously slammed his head into the counter, hard, until a strong hand wrenched him away, and then —

There was emptiness for a while until God deemed, let there be ice.

The chill of the ice water shocked him back awake. Kokichi didn’t remember how much time had passed, didn’t even understand that Maki had dunked his face into the vat of ice water they had laid out on the counter earlier. A blissful moment passed where he couldn’t recall where he was or what was happening to him. He opened his mouth to take a breath, and his lungs filled with freezing water until the force that pushed him under yanked him away from the frozen pool, and he coughed until his ears stung even on the inside of his head.

He caught a glimpse of his finger and it was _red_. The fingernail stained the perfect marble surface, cracked down the middle. A part near his cuticle hadn’t come all the way off and remained, rising up with every beat of his pulse.

Kokichi remembered wanting to faint again. He prayed to faint again. In his heart, he prayed to die. He wobbled in his seat, unclothed and floating, leaving his hand and his body behind him, only registering Shuichi and his spotlight eyes shining down on him and how he was smiling that uneasy, excited grin that he always did whenever he was tormenting him. His fingers were humming angrily at him, the pain thrumming hard like a too low decibel sound. The blowtorch hissed again.

Kokichi couldn’t remember anything that happened past that point.

It may have been a blessing that he couldn’t. The memory seemed to tuck itself into the deepest recesses of his brain, hidden behind its creases and folds. When he woke up, he was upstairs again in his bed ( _his bed, jesus fucking christ_ ) and his wrists were shackled to the headboard like they had been before. He fell asleep and woke up and fell asleep again, and at some point, somebody had tucked him in. He rubbed his feet together under the blankets, but his toes felt icy.

When he finally opened his eyes, he stared at his right hand. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his digits, but in a way that he would still be able to move all of his fingers individually. He thumbed the gauze and was vaguely surprised to feel nothing. Four of his nails from his right hand were gone. The beds felt soft, like a newborn child’s skin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shuichi thought he was going to pass out as he watched Rantaro lift the skull out of the box. Breath refused to leave his lungs at all — it was as though his entire body had shut down, as though this moment were to decide whether or not he would live or die. A sharp thumbnail pressed into the palm of his hand.

Rantaro held it up close to his face, his eyes squinting as he inspected it.

Unable to stand the tension any longer, Shuichi stuttered out, “w, well, do you… do you like it?”

“Shuichi,” Rantaro said in a low voice, his face a blank slate as he made eye contact with the boy sitting at the dining room table. “Who is this?”

“Ts-Tsumugi,” Shuichi said, feeling sick as the name left his tongue, “It’s Tsumugi —”

“Tsumugi? Sh — wh — _are you nuts?”_

“Wh, what?” Shuichi gasped. Rantaro came forward and grabbed both of his shoulders. There was little power in how he shook his shoulders, but Shuichi felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Jesus, it’s the first rule of doing anything — you don’t pick someone close to you!” Rantaro hissed through his teeth. Shuichi flinched away like he had been slapped with an open palm. The hard, concerned stare Rantaro was giving him made him nervous. He desperately clambered to defend himself.

“I, I just wanted to — I wanted to do it with someone we had in common,” Shuichi blubbered. His hands clasped tightly in his lap. “And Tsumugi was there wh-when we first met… I th-thought it was… romantic?”

Rantaro had turned away at this point. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his face crunched together in concentration and anger. The detective could see where Rantaro’s muscles were flexing on his arm as he bent it.

Finally, there was a sigh, and he was back next to the skull, his palm cupping the crown of it nicely. His face remained conflicted. His thumb was rubbing one of the indented fissures across the bone.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I beheaded her. I b-boiled her head… so all the skin and hair and meat c-came off,” the detective stammered out. His stomach turned oily. It felt like that foul odor was still following him. He could still smell it, sticking to him and his clothes and his body. He didn’t expect it to smell more obnoxious than boiling beef or some other similar meat, but when he was cooking her, he smelled something else — something much more offensive to his senses than anything else he had smelled before. That was the first time he vomited since he had actually taken off her head.

_(that was because some part of it was clinging to her body and he twisted it like a loose tooth and hacked away at it but it wouldn’t budge until around 20 minutes in that stubborn thing)_

Tsumugi’s eyes rolled out of their sockets before her skin had completely detached, shriveling tightly between columns of bubbles. Around 5 minutes in, he began gently sloughing off the muscles in a smooth, clean layer using a flat spatula he had found in the kitchen drawer. That was the second time. He barely made it to the sink that time, his feet scrabbling as soon as he felt the sourness hit the back corners of his tongue. Staring into the ruined bottom of the sink, he wondered if he should give up. And then he decided to proceed.

“Then I… I buried the body in the woods where you told me to,” Shuichi said.

“I see."

“Are you — are you mad at me? Did I not do a good job?” Shuichi asked, his heart sinking as Rantaro pursed his lips. The taller male closed his eyes, as if mulling over what to say. Shuichi felt his world begin to teeter back and forth. Some foreign voice in his head started scolding him: _you messed this up because of course you did. I don’t know why you try. You’re always making things worse. You’re a curse._ His skin went cold, turning pale like parchment as the seconds ticked by without an answer.

“Please,” Shuichi breathed, on the verge of tears, “Rantaro. I’m sorry.”

The nerves of his lips tingled. The lump in his throat kept persisting despite how many times he had swallowed, trying to get it to go away. Slowly, he blinked.

“I was just trying to — but I messed it all up again, oh God —” He already sounded like he was on the edge of hysteria, and he hated it. He hated how he sounded when he was obviously desperate for the other to forgive him. His hands raised in front of himself, not that he noticed.

“Shuichi, don’t.” There was a sharp clatter as Rantaro left the skull on the counter, and Shuichi looked up at the love of his life. The green-haired male cupped his hands around Shuichi’s cheeks. They felt soft and cool, a stark contrast to his heated face. Rantaro’s expression was nigh unreadable, but he held Shuichi still as the latter cringed violently away from his touch until he realized he wasn’t going to be struck.

“I’m —”

“Don’t say you’re sorry again. It’s okay,” Rantaro whispered. “I forgive you. You didn’t know.”

Tears began slipping from Shuichi’s eyes.

“I love you so much, Rantaro,” he cried softly. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“I am happy,” Rantaro said. He dipped forward.

They shared a chaste kiss at first; Shuichi’s lips were soft, and the detective pulled away on instinct before he settled into the warmth, the nervousness easing away. Long, dark lashes fluttered closed. Shuichi’s hands brought themselves up to cover the other’s. Shuichi thought he was melting like a candle melts into a puddle of wax, being steadily eaten away at until he was a pool of some indescribable shape, completely and utterly used up for his one purpose.

When he pulled away, Shuichi asked, “Are you telling the truth? You really are happy?” He wondered if his hands were still sweating.

“Yeah. Aren’t you?” Rantaro asked.

“I am! Of course I am, if you’re happy — !”

His voice was smothered by another kiss. His breath stopped. His body swayed dizzily in place as he let himself sink into the kiss now, letting the heat and pleasure overtake him. Rantaro pulled away again after some time — it felt like forever and yet not enough.

“Rantaro,” Shuichi said dreamily. “Please… please go out with me. I love you.”

Rantaro leaned closer, whispered in his ear.

“Sure. But only because you did such a good job.”


End file.
